


Fool's Gold

by AcanthaMD



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/M, Friendship/Love, Horror, Mutual Non-Con, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5701222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcanthaMD/pseuds/AcanthaMD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She held the knife firmly in her hand as she pressed it against her thigh, the other hand clenched in a hard knot by her side. He seemed determined to push her to the limits, to test her or to break her. His eyes were cold and a thin humourless smile played on his lips as he looked at her. Filled with his own self hatred at wanting someone he could not and should not have his words were bitter, hoping to push her to the edge so that he could prove to himself once and for all that she was not, and could not be worthy of his feelings for her. </p><p>“Your kind destroyed us,” his words were like a quiet poison. “Humanity is guilty of genocide.”</p><p>She tilted her chin up, full of anger and defiance. “No Solas, your people destroyed themselves.” </p><p>He took a step forwards lithe and threatening, his eyes like black lightening. She knew full well why he had given her the knife, he meant to push her to use it on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Fool’s Gold

  **Prologue**  

 

 

> ‘Quoi, qu'on y croit ou pas, y aura bien un jour où on y croira plus.’

 

 

Someone beneath the open window was complaining of the heat.

  
Rain had not been seen in Tevinter for the past eight months, countless days merging into an endless  desert of drought. All of Thedas seemed to swelter under the heat. Outside the stone walls, the grass lining the stately courtyard was browned. Blades of razor grass clumped in dark patches almost defiantly, their sharp waxy leaves impenetrable to the sun’s blazing eye. These patches were carefully avoided by the many sandaled feet that crossed the atrium on their way to the Chambers of Deliberation. Every now and again a slave swathed in dark cottons, would scamper from trough to trough of colourful plants pouring amphora after amphora of cool water into the dusty soil. Even the insects seemed too lethargic and drained to move energetically through the air, instead they clung to the dark cool corners, a dull toneless hum as if it was the most they could muster.

The room stank of incense, great dark curling plumes of purple smoke hanging in the air like a thick fog. It was unbearably hot in here too, the heat swirling in spirals and dancing around the room like a spirit of mirth – how anyone would be able to work under such conditions was a mystery.

As if on cue Ignatios put down his quill, using the feather to tickle his chin thoughtful as he regarded the contents of the scroll. It would do, he thought and leaning forwards signed a scratchy spider-like signature into the bottom right of the parchment whilst simultaneously reaching for the wine cup. His fingers found it easily without his eyes lifting from the scrawls of almost illegible letters before him. He took a long draught of the dark red liquid, with all the need of a man who has just walked a thousand leagues under the unforgiving sun. Refreshed he took another piece of paper from the pile by his elbow and he prepared the wax seal, scrawling the words: ‘To be sent to Vol Dorma – For Master Nilus.’

The family seal lay in the top-most draw of the ornate desk he was currently sat at. Brass dragons made for clawed feet, and dark highly polished wood made its handsome surface. He carefully withdrew the seal and stamped the insignia onto the letter. Admiring its elegance for the countless time. A double headed snake, its body entwined in a loop with one head at each end and diagonal slits for eyes. The brass head made a satisfying sound as it plunged into the hot wax and Ignatios smiled to himself, something’s about his job were satisfying; like the pay, the wine, the food, the culture, the history. Whatever he wanted, he would find here. Whatever he could dream of, he would find here.

There were certain perks that Minrathous brought to one’s attention that were not so easily accessible anywhere else. He did not enjoy the politics but he accepted the necessity of it. You needed a shrewd sharp mind to succeed here, and his position was something many of the lower casts envied.  Nodding to himself he moved promptly from the desk, striding purposefully across the room which was littered with books and pieces of parchment, all strewn about on low wooden tables or the floor.

He stopped by a handle built into the dark panelling of the opposite wall, a few paces across a huge window revealed a breath-taking view of the Nocen Sea. It’s waves rolling against the cliffs of the inland like sheets azurite glass, cascading into fountains of white foam as they crashed against the rocky shores.

Ignatios turned the crank, apparently oblivious to the sight before him, he might as well be standing in a piss stained alley for notice he took of it. He concentrated simply on a panel in the dark wood in front of him which, after a moment slid open, revealing a hidden compartment in the wall. He withdrew a crystal cylinder from his back pocket, slipped the parchment inside and then placed it in the hole in front of him. He then turned the crank again so that the slot he had just uncovered was tilted back on hinges and the paper slid quickly away into the darkness.

The bell rang clear throughout the stone corridors; he had been waiting for this since sunrise. The sharp notes of the bell beckoning him to the Chambers of Deliberation. He strode back to his desk, sweeping his ink and quill into a small leather satchel, and after a moments consideration a small flask followed the other objects into the bag. A name formed on his lips, but before he could call it his scribe appeared in the doorway as if from nowhere. He was smudged with ink, pieces of parchment poking out from his pockets and carrying Ignatios’s hat. Waiflike and tall, a spindly figure with a clever face and intelligent eyes. Better yet, he was a half-elf. Meaning no high official would pay him any heed, allowing him to slip from one place to another unseen and unnoticed.

“They are gathering in the auditorium, Sir.”

“So I hear Sergius, let us follow.”

Following his lead Sergius fell into step behind Ignatios and listened to his master grumble without commentary.

“All of Tevinter stinks, I daresay all of Thedas stinks. This is the fetid smell of decay Sergius. There has been no rain for over eight months. The streets are thick with the filth of sweat and dust, and our wind is sickly with the threat of plague. Next men will lie down on the streets and die of heat, only to be consumed by the crows.”

He turned, looking at the half-elf for a reply and he was duty bound to respond.

“It is not so bad, the aqueducts still bring water down from the mountains.”

Ignatios let out a cold bark of laughter, nodding to the other Altus joining the cress as they entered the long hallway that joined the outside world to the Chambers of Deliberation.

“The aqueducts run dry Sergius, slowed to a dribble. Here we are surrounded by the Nocen Sea, almost drowned in water and yet none to quench our thirst.” He stopped to light a candle before entering the revered chambers, kneeling before a mural of the Black Divine and quickly marking the sign of fealty across his chest. The murmuring of tens of dozens behind and beside him doing exactly the same flitted about the chamber like an imitation of the wind.

“I believe the Grand Cistern holds water enough for five years.” Sergius responeded doggedly, following his master as they crossed into the magnificent and huge oval room carved from stone,  all one seamless design. A central oval platform at the centre and around it rows and rows of sculpted stone seats, rising almost to what seemed the ceiling. Huge slits in the wall allowed the strong light to penetrate into the room, shards of golden light falling onto the floor and colouring it like the sun. The smell of herbs and fragranced smoke lay heavy in the air as thick smoggy haze; a somewhat soporific effect. Dulling the senses and blunting the mind as the world turned from day to early evening.

Ignatios willed himself awake and was for once thankful for the uncomfortable feel of the chair as they seated themselves in their usual seats.

“Is today’s vote important?” Sergius asked in a discreet undertone as other Altus and members of the chamber sat nearby.

“It is of minor importance,” Ignatious answered, trying to rearrange himself in his seat the best he could possibly manage so both of his buttcheeks were spared from going numb for the longest amount of time possible. “But the Magister wishes to cast his vote on the topic at hand, so we must be here to carry out his will.”

Sergius pressed his lips together as another member of the chamber took a seat next to Ignatios – he would not be able to speak now. Despite being a free-man and an educated one at that, his birth and heritage meant he little beyond a slave in the eyes of most members of the Imperium. He cast his intelligent eyes instead upon the oval platform and waited for the grand doors to shut and the council to start.

The hours passed by in a hazy blur for Ignatious, there were many topics for discussion today. Hardly any were relevant and had little to do with him, many were to ploy of Magisters exerting their will on the stand to get their own way. He was not concerned with this, the droning of voices filled the great room, spiralling to the ceiling and down again as the debates went on and on and on. His eyelids grew heavy and despite his best efforts he felt the clawing need to sleep pull at his insides, dragging his head down into an uncomfortable slumber. Sergius would wake him…Sergius would know…

“Ouch!” Ignatious sat bolt upright in his seat. His arm throbbing from where the half-elf had pinched his skin. He was about to turn angrily in his seat but became acutely aware of the silence filling the great chamber. He looked around surreptitiously, conscious of the fact that he had been asleep and even possibly snoring; a gauche but not an inexcusable display within these walls of antiquity. Everyone was still seated, no one had set themselves on fire or fallen out of their seats from what he could tell so what in the Maker’s name had...

That was when he noticed that the doors had been thrown open again, an unusual fact in itself. Once the doors to the chambers were closed they would not be reopened again for anyone less than the Imperial Archeon or her second in command. Then he noticed the two solitary figures walking slowly down the pathway between the seats towards the platform.

To his knowledge he had never seen them before, for he would surely have recognised the man. Dressed in expensive clothes, a formidable display of wealth, taste and style. He had a commanding air about him. Dark and handsome features, an aquiline nose and a promising mouth. He seemed completely unperturbed by the hundreds of eyes resting on him as he walked to the centre of the chamber, his lips portraying an expression of both amusement and pleasure. And yet – that was nothing to say of the figure next to him, arm intertwined with his. Her face was heavily veiled beneath black lace, a full figure in a floor length dark gown with the bodice of the dress pulled tight across her high proud breasts, glittering stones embroidered into the fabric so whenever the dress caught the light it glittered like starlight.

The stranger looked pleasantly at the speaker currently standing on the platform, and as the silence grew and became more pressing his look became harder until the speaker stood aside.

Without hesitation the stranger took the centre stage, a whisper filtered through the seated Altus and members of the chamber like a ripple.

This was unprecedented. Who was this man? Who was this woman? This was not done – he was an unknown, a man of undetermined reputation strolling into their stronghold. This was the cradle of civilization, not a stage for heathens to parade across. Where was his breeding? What right did he have to be there?

Members of the audience began to shift – the spell of silence it seemed had lifted at last and people were muttering complaints beneath their breath. It was only a matter of time before this swelled and …

“I have come,” the stranger began. The female figure silent by his side, hands clasped across her chest, head bowed. “with a proposition for you.”

“Who are you?” Someone from the back shouted, a murmur of agreement ran through the crowd.

Yes, who was this stranger?

“Forgive me,” he replied his eyes glittering dangerously, a strange smile sweeping across his handsome features. “I am Lord Rufinius Coven.”

Ignatious thought to shout something bold like: “Never heard of him!” but he was stilled by Sergius’s heavy hand on his wrist. The half-elf’s eyes were narrowed and his face was pale, so Ignatious stilled his tongue.

“And of course this is my sister, Lady Herron.” His dark eyes sparkled and Ignatious felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand straight.

“We have a proposition for you and all of the Tevinter Empire. We bring the promise of wealth, of power, and of magic that has been lost to Tevinter since Archeon Thalsian. We bring offerings from our Master, a God bound in mortal flesh. We only ask that you listen to our offer.”

“Go,” Ignatious whispered to Sergius. The cold feeling of dread climbing from his stomach and into his mouth. “Inform Magister Pavus.”

Sergius silently slipped from his seat, moving swiftly and seamlessly through the rows of chairs to one of the small servants exits built discretely into the tall walls of stone. As his fingers felt for the latch he felt something bore into the back of his skull like a nail, and he turned slowly on the spot.

From all aspects of the room the platform was easily seen. A masterwork of construction, the light from the ceiling falling onto the speakers giving them an illuminating glow. The woman’s position had changed slightly Sergius noted, his stomach twisting over on itself. Her veiled head raised and his heart leapt into his chest as he realised her pointed gaze was resting on him. It seemed to squeeze the breath from his chest and turn the blood in his veins to ice, he snatched at breath and fumbled for the latch, desperate to get away.

_“I see you.”_ She seemed to say and for some unknown reason, he was filled with fear.

 


	2. Chapter One: Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which it becomes evident I played Tell Tale Game of Thrones over the little holiday I had (yes I enjoyed it).

 

 

**Chapter One: Homecoming**

**9:35 Dragon**

 

They’d been gone a while now, Elayne Travelyan thought as an aside as she sat on the sunny bank with her brother Willem, waiting for the other two to make their way back to where they were picnicking. Willem seemed oblivious to this fact in the midst of pouring himself another measured cup of wine, so she threw a knob of cheese at the back of his head.

 “Good Maker, what was that for?”

“Where are they Bill?”

Willem shrugged.

“They’ll be back soon pigeon, you’re not home often enough for them to tease you on a regular basis anymore. They’ll want to make the most they can out of what precious time they have left. Speaking of which…” He paused, looking her over.

“Where’s that magic stick you carry got to?”

 “You mean my _staff_?”

 He waggled his brows, “Potato potato really isn’t it?”

 “No, it’s not a potato.”

 Willem laughed. “Alright, your _staff_ then Miss Proper; where are you hiding it? Golly I hope this circle doesn’t take all of your sense of humour away from you. It would make you frightfully dull.”

 “I’m not allowed to take my ‘magic stick’ outside of the college for social visits, I think it’s seen as inviting too much trouble.”

“In case you decide to use blood magic the second the Circle lets you out of their site? So they tie your hands behind your back so it would be extremely difficult for you to cause mayhem? Ingenious.”

 “Precisely, and I was so looking forward to binding you to some inanimate object. It would make everyone’s lives so much more peaceful.”

 “Wait – you’re not going to turn me into a toad?”

 She blinked at him, “No one actually does that Bill.”

 “Well, I see a gap in the market then. So how often do your fellow mages visit their homes? Per annum? Fortnightly?”

 “No actually, a lot of mages are turned down on their requests to visit their families. Some never leave the confines of the Circle from what I can gather.”

 “A lot of families aren’t related to nobility however, or come from a powerful house.” Willem remarked, “Besides I seem to remember father and mother contributing a large lump sum to the Ostwick Circle. I’m sure that probably has something to do with whether social visits are declined and granted. After all, it’s in _their_ best interests for Ma and Pa to make a generous donation again in the near future.”

 He looked seriously at her for a moment with his thoughtful grey eyes. “They do treat you well don’t they Ela? You would tell us… Tell me, if they did things that you didn’t like. You would tell us, wouldn’t you?”

 “Of course I would Bill, you know me. I’d shriek so all the Fade could hear me before I was silent.”

 He squeezed her hand, seemingly reassured.

 “The Mater hates you being so far away from the family, Pa doesn’t let on much that he misses you, but he does. I’ve caught him in the gallery a few times staring at your miniature looking misty eyed.”

 “Oh Bill please. I miss them too, **every day**. I miss you, Roderick and Asher all the time, but life in the Circle isn’t as bad as some make it out to be. I love my studies and it would be more worrying if I wasn’t properly trained.”

 “So come back after you’ve finished your training then.”

 “We shall see.”

 “Ahh…” Willem took a deep sip of wine, “A woman’s famous yet cryptic way of saying ‘No fucking way’. Don’t you want to be married off to some powerful Lord?”

 Elayne snorted, “I think I shall keep hold of my independence for as long as possible. I love the fact that within the Circle just talent is met with just reward. I don’t want to be married to some to some social climber who expects me to pop out babies as soon as possible; no _thank you_.”

 “The Mater and Pa was a love match, albeit I don’t know if he regrets it now….”

 “Yes well, most of the girls I grew up with are paired off now.”

 “Unhappily?”

 “I guess it depends what you mean by happiness and what makes you happy. I don’t want to sit at home working on my fine embroidery, I want to be out there, doing _things_.”

 “Yes I remember one of your favourite games to be was Wardens and the Blight.”

 Willem tore at a piece of bread thoughtfully, “Tell me Ela, what are the Templars like?”

 She hesitated and he sensed it.

 “The Templars are… courteous.” She answered carefully.

 Willem raised an eyebrow at her, “Well make sure that’s _all_ they are Ela.”

 He shifted putting the cup to one side and lying on his back examining the sky before them for a while. His eyes roving over the shapes of the clouds and the tops of the trees as they reached up to touch the blue eternity stretching out before them.

 She noticed he opened his mouth, and shut it again so the silence became pregnant and Elayne found herself prodding her brother with her foot impatiently.

 “What?” He asked, pretending to look innocent.

 “Spit it out Bill. What were you going to ask?”

 “Have you ever…”

 Another prod.

 “Okay – okay. Have you ever spoken to a demon?”

 “Why? In case I’m possessed by one now?”

 “Well I thought it would be impolite to mention the horns and tail, but you were always frightfully ugly.”

 She dropped an apple on his head in retaliation.

 “Yes, I have.”

He looked at her expectantly so she continued, “The first time I spoke to a demon - properly spoke to a demon that is, was my Harrowing.”

 “That strange thing they make you do to show you’re a fully-fledged magician?”

 “Yes, so after you pull a rabbit out of a hat you’re asked to enter the Fade and find a demon or spirit or thing and show you can resist the pull of being possessed.”

 Willem turned round and drew his knees up to his chest, they were of a similar age (he was only three years older than her, the youngest boy in the family) with similar dark looks, dark curly hair and high cheekbones.

 “So?” He asked in both a curious and slightly suspicious tone, “What happened?”

 “It ate me and I died. The end.”

 “ _Ha-ha-ha_.”

 “On a serious note, it’s not unusual for an apprentice to perish or become possessed at their Harrowing. That’s why there are so many Templars present at the event, so they can safely dispatch the mage if anything were to go wrong.” 

 “Lovely. But I am more interested in what happened to you specifically.” He accessed her critically, reminding her forcefully of a bird of prey (perhaps a Falcon or a Sparrow hawk?).

 “So you drank some lyrium and entered the Fade. Does lyrium transport you to the Fade?”

 “No Bill – no human or mortal can set physical foot in the Fade, it is impossible. The Fade just sort of is … like the concept of a room behind a closed door. You can think about the room behind the door, you know that a room exists behind the door but you cannot open it. With mages, you are taught to let the Fade envelops you.”

 He was totally lost at sea by this, she could tell.

 “It’s not important Bill.”

 “So what happened pigeon?”

 “I faced a demon and she asked… well – she didn’t ask. She knew what I wanted, or at least what I’d been dreaming about for the past few months.” 

“She already knew who you were?!” He looked concerned, “Ela did she try to possess you?!” 

“Well of course she did Bill, isn’t that the purpose of the Harrowing? Spirits and demons are all around us all the time, as we wake, walk and sleep. We might not always be able to see them but they are always there. All she told me though was that she had a way of making sure I got through my Harrowing safely.”

“And what did you say?”

“I thanked her very much for her kind offer, but told her I wasn’t interested in her proposition.”

“So what happened?”

“She wasn’t too pleased, she tried to persuade me to reconsider and I still refused she tried to overpower me.”

“FUCK!”

“Well I’m here aren’t I? So she obviously didn’t succeed.” 

Willem kneaded his head with his knuckles, “Maker that sounds dangerous.”

“I believe it’s dangerous because they make it so.”

“Excuse me?”

She sighed and popped a grape between her lips, biting it clean in half so that the tart sweet flavor burst inside her mouth.

“We walk amongst spirits every day, our world, our wants and our dreams are reflected in the Fade. When a mage enters the Harrowing they are actively searching for a demon to possess them. It is not a natural course of events, it is an artificial situation with a creature we do not fully understand. I don’t think the Harrowing means anything more than what the first Enchanter means it to believe and what the Templars want to see. Perhaps it is just the Fade’s way of reflecting _our_ ritual, it gives us what we seek because we seek it so adamantly. Those with a weaker will the Fade overcomes. The idea of the Harrowing is so very human in nature, it’s so _very Chantry_. They want to guarantee that a mage is as safe as possible, so how can they prove that? By the most physical evidence possible that a mage will resist temptation and not allow themselves to become the vessel to another being that could easily overpower a human. Proof that the Templars are in control of the situation, proof that we will not succumb to blood magic. ‘Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.’”

“It doesn’t sound like you are very pro-Circle, pigeon.”

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I think Circles are the best places for mages to a certain extent, it lifts some out of poverty, elves are treated as equals, and it gives security to those who have never had any before. But I believe this does vary from Circle to Circle. Do you remember before I went, I could hardly control my magic. I kept accidentally setting things on fire.”

“You still do don’t you? The upholstery in the dining room has never recovered.”

They both grinned at each other, remembering the time their older brother Asher had leapt out at them from behind a curtain and Elayne in her fright had set the carpet and Asher’s sleeve on fire. Asher had been given such a hard smack with a broom handle by their mother for causing whole incident he claimed he hadn’t been able to sit on his left buttock for a week afterwards.

“It is a bad time to be a mage though, I hear the Templars have seized control of Kirkwall after their little incident with the Viscount and his son.”

“Hasn’t it always been a bad time to be a mage though?”

Willem shrugged, “I guess it depends who you ask. Maybe you’ll go to Tevinter and then I’ll have a Magister for a sister – wouldn’t that be interesting. At least you could do what you wanted _when_ you wanted, without having to ask for bloody permission all the time.”

“Oh yes, Magister Travelyen – Master of blood magic.”

“And demons, don’t forget the demons.”

A cloud passed over the sun and he squeezed her hand as the shadow fell across them both.

“Now,” he said standing up and stretching. “Where the fuck have our hapless older siblings gotten off to?”

Roderick and Asher had left some hour and a half earlier on the pretense of getting more supplies for lunch, but seeing as half their picnic food still lay untouched Elayne had surmised that the two had been plotting something (no doubt devious) together.

“Shall we take the basket?” She asked, looking down into the mostly uneaten contents of the lovingly provided food that Cook had given them.

“No, pack it up and we’ll leave it here. I’ll hang it from the branch of a tree and we can come back and collect it later. At least that way no bears will easily get at it, and if the other two pricks are full we can give it to the groundskeeper’s family on our way back home.”

 

As she packed away the remains of lunch, Willem went to untie and re-saddle the horses, both of whom had been grazing lazily a little way down the bank. It had been some months since she had ridden a horse as excursions outside the circle unless on designated leave to her family were hard to come by for a junior mage, and she had found that her leg muscles were now aching uncomfortably. Still, she hoped to impress the Circle. She had heard of the Knight Enchanters held by the Imperial court and the idea of a mage wielding a Spirit Blade had captured her imagination since she had heard the first whisperings of it in the Circle library. Few were chosen, and the lucky few needed to be of the highest caliber as one needed to possess a command of physical strength as well as absolute magical control.

Within half an hour the picnic basket had been suspended on the highest branch possible, although Elayne felt if a bear was very inclined to eat the remains of their picnic – she would not be quarreling with it. Bears were quite big and ferocious enough at a distance _thank you_ without being brought face to face with their teeth, massive bulk and equally vicious claws.

They altered their horses pace between a trot and playful canter as they raced each other across the rolling hills and tussocks, Elayne felt herself instinctively reach for her staff several times throughout the race. It had become a primary reflex, as easy as breathing and twice as quick. The only times she had been out on horseback with the Circle it had been in training and she had been taught how to fight on horseback the techniques of how to quickly take an opponent down, to immobilize a target or to sweep the enemy from his horse with one quick spell from across the battle field. All of these techniques of course required a staff – which of course she had not been allowed to take with her.

Oh well, it was probably for the best. Willem might not take kindly to being swept off his horse by magical means just because he threatened to best her in a race.

They were a few miles from their parent’s holding when Willem saw the horse wandering down the lane towards them, saddleless and distressed.

“That’s Asher’s horse…” Elayne said, almost to herself as her brother wasted no time in seizing the startled mare by the bridal.

“What the fuck is going on?” He swore, taking the bow from where it was slung on his saddle. “Where the fuck is Asher? Where the fuck is bloody Roderick?”

Elayne looked about, “They can’t be on the road – they would have been seen by somebody by now, and Asher would have never let his horse wander about like this. Something must have happened.”

The sky was full of clouds as they looked at their surroundings, a dull grey light seemingly colouring the landscape in shadows.

“Ela, you should go home. I’ll stay – I’ll look for them. Tell our parents, they’ll send the guard.”

“I’m not leaving you!” She napped, “Either we both go back or we both go looking for them, but I’m not leaving you here that’s just ridiculous.”

“Don’t argue.” he sucked in air, “Do as I say!”

“Fuck off.” She said quickly, her hazel eyes flashing like a lioness. “You’re not my father, Bill. I’ll do what I like, and I say I’m helping you look for them.” She wheeled her horse around, sending it into a brisk trot down the road in the direction Asher’s horse had apparently come from. Behind her Willem let out such a slew of blasphemous and vulgar words that her ears turned pink.

For the most part Elayne ignored him, scouring the road for any sign of what might have happened to them. She had a sick feeling of dread seated in the pit of her stomach now, as if her guts had clenched in on themselves making it hard to breathe.

Where were they? What had they been doing? Were they alright? How long had they been in trouble whilst she and Willem had sat blithely talking about rubbish?

It was Willem who noticed the hoof prints, a commotion of activity leading off into a thicket of trees.

“Looks like they weren’t alone at any rate…” His voice trailed off, his grey eyes looking intensely at the trees before them.

“Ela,” he turned to her seriously. “I don’t know what’s happening but I think this might be dangerous. I’d prefer if you went home.”

Elayne looked her brother square in the face, swallowing a sudden urge to head-butt him. She knew his stubbornness as well as she knew her own. What he said did make sense, but if she turned to leave now and something happened to him she would never forgive herself.

“I’m staying.” She told him firmly, “You’ll need backup and I’m good on a horse.”

His grey eyes almost bored a hole into her skull, but she stood her ground and after what seemed an age he reached down and pulled a long dagger from inside his boots, handing it to her silently.

“Don’t hesitate to do whatever it takes if it means you’ll be safe.” He said quietly, and without another word his turned his horse towards the thickets and she followed him into the shadows.

 

* * *

 

 

The undergrowth was deathly quiet, the sound of her own heart beat sounded catastrophically loud in her own ears, almost driving her nuts with its rapidity. There was no sound of her brothers, no hide nor hair of them. Elayne swallowed, trying to keep down the sick that threatened to come out of her throat.

Perhaps this was a joke. A cruel and vicious joke the two of them had cooked up together to frighten her. How very like them – Asher would find more than his sleeve on fire if that was the case. His eyebrows would be fair game this time.

She felt her horse hesitate beneath her, but she urged her on with a few whispered sweet nothings and a reassuring pat. A silently as possible, they pressed forwards. Neither one daring to speak lest they should break the overhanging stillness. The silence felt like an enormous weight pressing down on her back slowly crushing her the further into the undergrowth they went.

Eventually after what seemed like hours they came to a small clearing, the sun peering glumly between the trees, casting long shadows across the grass and leaf strewn floor. Dense undergrowth surrounded them on their side and the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood to attention – _something was there_ , she could feel it. She immediately drew her horse to a complete stop feeling spooked, letting a slow hiss escape from between her lips. Willem pulled back too stilling his horse looking at her intently but not saying a word, both hands laid on his bow which was lying across his lap.

She could see nothing – hear nothing. She was just sure of the feeling that something was there, _watching her_. She looked for eyes in the darkness but found none, saw no movement and closing her eyes for a brief second to concentrate heard absolutely nothing.

Was she spooking herself? Seeing the reflection of eyes in the darkness when there were none? Was she imagining the silvered glint of teeth in the undergrowth? Dark pupils peering at her from beneath barbed bramble leaves, something ready to jump at her and to attack?

Elayne’s hands were twitching for the haft of her staff, missing the feel of the gnarled wood beneath her fingers _acutely_. She felt naked without it, especially now. She could only work crude magic without it, the sort of magic she had accidentally used as a girl. How could she protect Willem if she was so encumbered, perhaps she should have gone back and sent for help…

A twig snapped suddenly to her right, but before she had time to react Willem had already sent an arrow spinning through the air just past her head. It found its mark, and with a crackling noise a man fell to the ground, black vapors swirling around his body as he writhed around in agony. The arrow embedded deep in his neck. Her horse skittered, rearing slightly as Elayne fought to control the animal as the man’s gurgling became quieter and eventually he stilled.

Willem jumped from his saddle, and kicked the man onto his back bending over to pat the man down looking for clues whilst muttering quietly under his breath: “Mercenary? Bandit? An organized group? An opportunist? It would take more than this to best Roderick and Asher.”

“It looks like a highway man,” Elayne said as her horse quietened, panic fluttered up and down her body and she forced herself to be still and calm.

“Do you think they were surprised? Jumped by a number of opportunists?”

“Well he’s got nothing of great interest on him I can tell you that,” Willem replied somewhat sarcastically pulling out what looked like some smelly crusty socks from the dead man’s pocket.

“It has been known to happen sometimes but not recently. Perhaps they just noticed two men from what is known to be the most powerful House in the area strolling down the road together? Did someone send them then? Perhaps for a ransom? At least this would explain why Asher and his horse are no longer together, but it does not explain where Roderick is.”

Willem turned round accessing his sister sitting high on her horse, his eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Did they come for you?’ he was wondering, he didn’t have to say it for her to know that’s what he was thinking. Did they come for a mage and mistake one of their vagabond older brothers (no doubt boasting about magic or some such idiocy) as they had pottered back down the road, unsuspecting.

He stepped cautiously into the clearing, listening hard. Then suddenly they both heard it, faint but just audible. Perhaps three hundred or four hundred meters away. They both looked in the same direction.

“Ah,” said Willem “Perhaps now we have our answer.”

They rode their horses quickly through the remainder of the thicket, as they went they saw the evidence of a skirmish that only Roderick and Asher could have left behind them. Blood, bits of armour, weapons and bodies littered the undergrowth as they made their way out to the other side. The thicket ended and the dark press of trees gave way a large open field at the bottom of a hill.

There had clearly been some sort of fight here as several bodies lay strewn on the green grass in crimson puddles, further away in the distance she could see two figures on a horse one with short blond hair, the other with brown. The light of the sun reflected from the metal shoulder plate one of the men on the horse wore – Asher, the other sported a distinguished nose that could be seen from even this distance. It was Asher and Roderick to be certain, saddled on the same horse giving whoever these men were, absolute hell.

They were pursued by men in heavy armour, one carrying a mace and another with a long cruel looking weapon seated on his own frighteningly large horse. As she and Willem looked on they saw their brothers bring their horse around, Roderick bent forward making his profile low as he urged the horse forward. In one seamless movement they charged towards the mace wielding warrior and Asher leant from the saddle keeping himself mounted by clenching his knees and pulled a pike from the chest of a fallen enemy as they cantered past. Expertly spinning the instrument round and within the same breath imped the warrior through the ribcage without breaking stride. The man he didn’t stand a chance. With an audible crunch that they could hear from the hill the pike went cleanly through his body. Asher roared and Roderick brought the horse around again, circling the remaining warrior on the horse.

“Are you satisfied?” Asher yelled, “Are you done? Or must we kill all of you?”

“We would rather you leave.” Roderick this time, the eldest and the most sensible. “There has been enough bloodshed today.”

The man on the horse bellowed his response with words that Elayne could not catch, but from the tone of his voice she could tell he did agree to her brothers’ terms.

“Well,” Willem muttered moving his horse forwards. “Could be worse.”

Elayne had been about to ask: ‘How?’ when suddenly to their left they heard a disturbance. An archer cleverly concealed in the undergrowth drew back the bowstring of his bow and let an arrow fly. Willem let out a yell of rage angry with himself for being oblivious to this, a dagger flying seconds later from his hand and embedding itself deep into the man’s skull with a sick sort of crunch – like a snail being ground into a stone. But it was too late, the arrow met its target, burying itself into the neck of her brothers’ horse.

Both Elayne and Willem let out the same wordless cry, eyes wide as they watched the horse reared back onto its hind legs, a terrible scream emitting from its mouth as it fell backwards. A look of surprise registered on both of her brothers’ handsome faces, and as if in slow motion Elayne saw Roderick fall as Asher was thrown clear. Their sable mount toppling like a sandy mountain onto Roderick’s lower limbs, trapping him beneath it.

With a shriek like a banshee the mounted warrior turned his steed towards where Roderick was lying imprisoned beneath his dying horse. Asher was both too far away to help his brother as well as seeming too dazed to be able to provide him with aid. Roderick struggled to free himself, but it was no good. The menacing glint of the sun caught the wicked blade of the weapon as the warrior charged towards her brother. His intention to kill written as plain as day across his features. If someone didn’t do something now, Roderick would die.

Elayne did not think, she could not think, she simply acted on instinct.

Deaf to Willem’s cry of “NO!” she spurred her horse onwards. The gravity of the situation had drained all fear from her body. She must stop this man at all costs, she must stop the horse. Her will turned to magic, and magic flowed from her to the horse and back to her again.

Understanding singularly what they must do. She rode without fear, faster than she had ever ridden before. Her pain forgotten, her fear a distant memory. All that mattered was getting _there._ Her horse galloping faster that she had ever galloped before, faster than she had ever ridden before. Their speed was like wind, like wild fire, like magic. She lay almost flat, pressed against her horse’s mane, unaware that she was whispering words in a language that she barely understood into her steed’s ear. Her speed was almost inhuman, she felt her magic hum under her skin as a tangible force. The warrior came closer and closer into view, saw Asher’s face as she flew past on the horse but did not hear what he shouted after her. All that mattered was that she got close enough to see the whites of this man’s eyes so she could drive the dagger through his skull.

He did not expect her – or perhaps he did not expect her to be so reckless. She did not slow the horse down as she approached, nor change her trajectory as he had clearly expected she would do. But by that time it was too late.

Their horses collided and she saw the whites of his eyes. The keen blade of the dagger into the pink flesh of his cheek and through the roof of his mouth as she was thrown from her horse; and within that instance the world set itself on fire.

 

* * *

 

**9:41 Dragon**

 

What had seemed like a five-minute respite had rapidly spiralled into an international incident, the Inquisitor – Lady Elayne Trevelyan dripped rapidly cooling soapy water onto the rich Orlesian carpet that covered the floor of her bedchambers as her irate and flamboyant Tevinter Mage paced backwards and forwards over it.

“This is ridiculous!”

Elayne sat on the edge of her bed swathed in only a small towel, still dripping and moist from the hot water. She listened patiently to Dorian, regretting the half an hour she’d taken for a bath as apparently the world had descended to hell in handbasket in the few minutes she had been absent.

It seemed like the safest option to nod in agreement as spectacular aspersions flew from the tip of his tongue like dragonfire.

Dorian continued his pronounced and practiced tirade, his arms flapping in alternative directions, timely pauses to accurately exaggerate the stroking of his moustache, all as he passionately paced around the room. The midday sun sliding through the gaps in the drapes like slices of gold, illuminating the Orlesian drapery so it shone like stars.

“I mean, who do they _think they are_?” He snarled, moustache aquiver. “To turn up uninvited inside someone else’s stronghold without so much as an invitation. Why doesn’t my family just move in? Bring the ornaments, rearrange your furniture, pick out your new curtains?”

Elayne nodded again it seemed wise to do so. The memory of the encounter with Dorian’s father was still fresh on her mind and she was keen to avoid another confrontation of a similar sort. She imagined the pain of it still smarted in Dorian’s memory, her lip twisting as she recalled the shouting match he and his farther had across the Gull and Lantern. Family entanglements were always complicated, and the higher one’s family descended into the ‘upper ranks’ the more complicated they became. Family ‘Duty’ being a word that hung heavily on her own conscience like a lead weight strapped about her chest. It hadn’t mattered that Elayne had shocked her parents by being mage-born, they had only cared because it had forced them to let her leave the family household.

If Elayne had been born without magic she probably would have been betrothed or married by now. So far she had escaped that fate. But she wondered if she was still expected to keep up with family traditions: work hard, impress and marry higher. Being the youngest out of four handsome and clever siblings she had a lot to live up to, a long way to climb, and a very long way to fall. 

“I mean really it is _outrageous_!” Dorian exclaimed, all but exploding with indignation. He was good at that; knowing when on to put on a show and when to stop. He was astute, had quick dark eyes and a sharp sense of wit. He knew she was only half paying attention as she wound her dark curly wet hair around her fingers and agreed with him, how he could he not? She was his best friend, and as such he threw himself dramatically into the nearest chaise-longue; hand draped over his eyes.

There was a silence.

“I suppose,” Elayne said after a moment, feeling an uncomfortable trickle of water slide between her breasts. “That you want me to come with you?”

Dorian made a muffled sound from where he was positioned on the chaise-longue as if the topic physically pained him to even contemplate, hand still slung dramatically over his face.

“Because,” Elayne continued, used to this game. “I would be happy to.”

A moments pause.

“Well in that case…”  As she thought it would be.

“Meet me downstairs in an hour.”

“An hour?!” She leapt up from the bed. “Dorian, I am hardly in a state to be receiving envoys from Tevinter nobility. I’m in my bloody dressing gown.”

Dorian’s eyes flashed mischievously as he looked her up and down from his position on the chaise-longue. “Nonsense, I’m sure anybody of any common sense would be happy to receive the Inquisitor in naught but her bathrobe. I’m certainly sure the Knight-Commander would be delighted to receive her in less.”

A shoe flew across the room toward him, he elegantly batted it away with a flick of his hand, a ripple of magic spinning through the air as it dropped onto the carpet.

“Needless to say my love, the more delicate part of the matter is as follows. I was engaged to a young woman in Tevinter before I made my escape to you heathen southerners down in the south.”

“Only your father knows of your preferences then?”

Elayne was direct, she always had been. Why waste time beating around the bush when something could be confronted right there and then. Something she and Cassandra had always seen eye to eye on.

“Oh no, my mother knew for years as well.” He flapped his hand around, “But it’s something you’d inform the town criers about, you know? Wouldn’t want to expose their son as being some sort of sexual deviant. Good Maker, **no**. Especially if they were going to make any plays for more political influence, my father _is_ a Magister after all. You’ve got to think about how it would look.”

He put on a comical voice, rising from the chaise-longue hands on hips. “Heard about your prodigal son Dorian, you know the devilishly handsome one? Heard he likes to bugger men up the arse.”

His raised his eyebrows drolly at her. “Yes, I’m sure that would go down wonderfully over honey-cakes and tea, don’t you?”

Elayne felt under the bed for her shift, wishing she hadn’t thrown her clothes about the room so haphazardly before desperately clambered into the bathtub. The grit, mud and grime from a three-day trek through the marshes of the Fallow Mire had made her want to scrub her skin with iron bristles in boiling hot water. There was something about the stench of the undead, you could always smell it on your skin a week later, no matter how hard you washed yourself afterwards. 

“Dorian, why do I feel like there is something about this meeting you are hiding from me?” Elayne asked. “You’re dancing around something, and I think I’ll forego the foreplay this time.”

His eyes flashed wickedly back at her, “But my darling, the foreplay is the best part.”

“I’d rather you just came and finished actually.” Her voice was dry and crisp as she raised an eyebrow, her hazel eyes twinkling at him.

“Who knew that our illustrious Herald of Andraste could be so crass?” He looked thoroughly amused by her response.

“ _Dorian…”_ Her words now were laced with a little warning.

“So I may have let slip that we are engaged to be married.” He said without pausing to breathe, and then went on to contemplate his fingernails as if he’d just commented on how the carpet complimented the wallpaper.

She paused, words momentarily failing her. “And, **when** exactly where you going to tell me this?”

“Now?”

She blinked, dark thick lashes over light hazel almost golden eyes. “Dorian!”

“What? I had no time to prepare you in advance.”

“Leliana told me that she had someone personally deliver a letter to you about this over a week ago.”

“My lady, do you honestly think I read anything Leliana’s cronies give me?”

Elayne raise both of her eyebrows, exactly matching her friend’s stare.

“No. I don’t suppose you do.”

His smile was as charming and handsome as ever, the forefinger of his left hand pressed lightly against his mouth as he surveyed her, giving him a quixotic expression. But she sensed nervousness behind his attractive façade, as if the situation made him uneasy and he was worried she’d turn him down.

“Well it sounds like it’s too late to back out now, doesn’t it? Especially if they’re practically already here.” And at that he moved across the room towards her, relief sweeping across his features as he pulled her into a crushing hug.

“ _Thank you_.” He whispered quietly in her ear, the humour from his voice momentarily gone.

She squeezed him back, annoyed at his duplicity and pleased that he had come to her for help, that he trusted her so fully.

“Now,” he sprang back and clapped his hands together loudly. Immediately and as if on cue one of castle staff emerged from behind a door, a brown paper package held aloft above their head. It was then placed delicately onto one of the wooden tables, before bowing themselves out of the room.

“I took the liberty of ordering some clothes for you to wear to this little ‘meeting’.”

Of course, Dorian the Master of Manipulation.

“Can’t have you dressed like a Southern Heathen can we?” he pulled the string that bound the package together to reveal a deep embroidered purple cloth could be seen peeking out from between the brown paper, embellished with damask and a love neckline of gold, tigers eye and yellow topaz.

“I thought it matched your eyes.” Dorian said after a moments pause, following her gaze. Elayne flushed, she had worn ceremonial gowns on rare occasions when her family had presented at court and she had always felt slightly awkward in them. Afraid that she would trip, or in a moment of panic her clothes on fire, or even worse, set someone else clothes on fire.

There was little pomp and ceremony as a mage in the circle, clothes were made to be practical, and at home she had spent so much time clambering after Roderick, Asher and Willem that her mother had given up on buying her lavish clothes. Her wardrobe had simply contained dresses that could be easily washed and mended, and to be honest there were not many instances at home that had required her to dress formally and she had never given much thought to it. But a little part of her had always envied Vivienne’s elegant form fitting robes and her tall boots made from the finest soft leather. Orlesian mages, or at least those mages that made it to court seemed to have lived another life entirely in comparison to her practical Ostwick circle.

“It’s lovely.” She murmured quietly.

“If you want I can help you put it on…?” His eyebrows waggled around suggestively.

She pointed at the door, “Get _out_.”

 

 

 


	3. Chapter Two - A familiar emissary

Chapter Two -  A familiar emissary 

 

 

 

 

 

> Ca doit faire au moins mille fois que j’ai compté mes doigts?

 

* * *

 

 “Why are you wearing that?” Solas’s voice was almost accusatory as Elayne carefully traversed the stairs from her chambers down to the small corridor that connected her room to the main hall. She had been in the middle of navigating the bottom flight of steps as the door opened and a tall lithe figure paused on the carpet between the door and the rest of the castle.

 She arched her brow in response, conscious of the fact that she was barefoot and holding her shoes in her left hand whilst delicately holding the hem of the dress in the other, lest she should trip and break her neck. Or worse, step on it and rip the thing.

 “Clothes Solas. I’m wearing clothes.”

 He was not to be outdone. “Whilst it had escaped my attention that you frequently run around Skyhold exposed to all the elements, I would still like to comment on the fact that this seems an unusual diversion from your normal form of attire.”

 She gave him a sarcastic smile, almost missing a step. “How very observant of you.”

He did not move.

Elayne thought his eyes sparkled a little wickedly as he blocked her only exit. Quietly but unyeilding. Demanding an answer as much for his own curiosity as anyone else’s. Thus her options were: to push past him, to retreat _back_ upstairs into her own chamber, or tell him.

 So much for going unnoticed.

“We are receiving an envoy from Tevinter.” She angled her head so her jaw jutted out at a high slant trying to look imperious. She watched as his eyes roved slowly over her, taking in her appearance from top to toe.

Elayne had pinned her dark hair away from her face and had coaxed her unmanageable fierce curls into a high bun, the thick hair tucked neatly away in the most convenient style possible. Her cheekbones were high, her nose handsome, her mouth forgiving, her skin dark. There was a moments pause as she watched Solas's eyes linger a little over her face, taking that she had applied little paint to both her mouth and eyes. A single line of gold just above her lashes that mirrored the hazel and gold of her own eyes. It matched the collar of the dress perfectly the precious stone shimmering even in the light of the dim hallway.  

 “Which is why of course,” he said with a lazy drawl, placing one hand on the bannister and offering her his free hand so that she could step down more easily. “That I have never seen you dress like that for any other of our prestigious guests. Am I to presume we are having the Imperial Archon over for dinner?”

 He drew her down towards him, a small underhand smile curving about his lips, his stormy grey eyes sparkling. Damn him. If she could have snorted fire she would have done, but instead she had to be content pressing her lips together disapprovingly.

 “Ah I see.” His eyes glittered wickedly, he made her feel guilty somehow. Guilty for helping a friend who had _asked for her help_.

 “I better make myself scarce then. Or am I to be serving _you_ dinner to prove you’re ready to become part of respected Tevinter society. Dinner wouldn’t be complete without an elf serving you amuse-bouche from their knees, now would it?”

 “Solas…”

 He was still holding her hand even though they were level now, her hand and palm raised above her waist as he gripped it between his long fingers. 

“Or am I to provide entertainment during dinner?” He continued. “Your leashed elven mage performing party tricks between the second and third courses? I hear that’s what all the fashionable Magisters are doing now-a-days.”

 “Solas you can _stop_.” Elayne said firmly, glaring at him as she felt pink rise into her cheeks, neck and bosom.

 “I get it, you’re not a fan. The Tevinter Imperium was partially responsible for the destruction of the Elven empire, they unapologetically treat elves as tools rather than living beings, and if any of them share any of Dorian’s character traits they are also probably incredibly arrogant about it too.”

 He merely raised an eyebrow at that.

 “But Leliana thinks there is reason to take this envoy seriously. I trust my advisors’ opinions and information.”

 “And the dress?”

 The flush turned a deeper crimson.

 “Dorian wants to make believe we are …” She fought about furiously for another way to say what she meant to say without sounding ridiculous. But Solas’s eyes bored unflinchingly into hers and her mind faltered and flagged for an alternative.

 “He wants to make believe we are engaged.” Maker’s breath it sounded **stupid** to say that out loud. Solas’s expression didn’t change per-say, but something about his persona hardened. It was almost imperceptible but Elayne could feel him stiffen beside her.

 They had over the past year spent a long time together and no doubt he was hard to read, perhaps the hardest to read out of all the companions that she had grown to care for and love. An emotion forged from the hardships they had all been forced to face together. He was not an easy individual to get on with in many ways, he could be curt and dismissive and then seconds later solemn and thoughtful. He was often silent, keeping his thoughts to himself but she had found ways to coax them out of him and she often sought his council. She had learned quickly that he was unlike other elves, seeming to stand apart from the rest of his kind. Any preconceptions she had had of him had been promptly thrown out the window. But he was lonely she thought, even in a room surrounded by people he was always by himself.

When she had probed him on his personal life he spoke little of family or of friends beyond the spirits that had seemed to have kept him company throughout most of his life. Beings that he obviously shared a powerful emotional connection to. One thing that had always struck her about Solas was that he did not care what other people’s opinions were of him and she liked that – he was not afraid to be himself. He was wealth of information, seeming both ancient and youthful all at the same time.

Elayne had never met anyone quite like Solas before, and was sure she would never meet anyone like him again. Her own upbringing had been full of family, laughter and love. A family that hadn’t cared she’d been mage-born; a family that had treated her as a man’s equal. She’d been taught how to use a bow and arrow, carry a sword and how to ride a horse bare-back from an early age. In stark contrast she understood Dorian perfectly – the much loved only child. The hopes and dreams of his parents poured into his very existence. The guilt he felt by disappointing them when he realized he could not live a lie for them. But the foundations of her life that made her who she was and that she could apply to other people simply did not apply to Solas. He was an enigma. Assembled it seemed from sharp intellect, prodigious magical power and an enormous wealth of unconventional knowledge.

She had travelled through time with him, walked physically in the Fade with him, defied his advice by drinking from the Well of Sorrows and walked the precarious edge of a snowy mountain with nothing but his word as her guidance. He had watched over her after she had emerged from the Temple of Ashes, half fearing for his life as Cassandra had threatened on almost an hourly basis to behead him, and it was _he_ who had first guided her hand to closing the Fade Rift. He had never left her side and his will was unrelenting. Together they had stood against Corypheus, and at the final battle they would stand together again, whether it be to live or die.

 But despite all this, they had not quarreled for sometime, not since he had accused her of becoming Mythal’s creature and she had turned on her heel from the atrium slamming the door behind her. For a moment Solas said nothing, and they both stared at each other as if testing each others resolve.  Elayne’s expression was one of mixed defiance and embarrassment, whilst Solas expression might best have been described as almost hostile. But before anymore words could be exchanged the door behind Solas flew open and Dorian dressed in a fine charcoal grey outfit with matching boots and gloves, strode impressively into the corridor.

 “Solas.”

 The word was jovial; light hearted.

 “Dorian.”  The response was decidely not.

 Dorian blinked at the elf, noting the tone of voice and looked slightly bewildered towards Elayne who was still standing shoulder to shoulder next to him.

 “Free Marcher.” His pet name for her.

 “Vint.”

 He grinned at her response, and then frowned noting the way Solas was still holding onto her hand.

 “What on earth are you doing? Are you keeping her hostage?” He asked. “I’ve been waiting for the past ten minutes for you to be ready. They’re here already.”

 Solas relinquished her hand, for a second a slightly puzzled look crossed his features as if he had forgotten he had been holding it.

 “Well I’ll let you two attend to our,” He paused for effect. “Eminent guest.”

Dorian’s moustache quivered slightly and Elayne knew he was biting back retort after retort for the sake of urgency. She bent down quickly to slip on her shoes so that Solas’s full attention was turned to the Tevinter Mage.

 “I also hear that _felicitations_ are in order.”

The word was dripped in sarcasm and laced with ridicule. Elayne felt the blood and heat rush to the back of her neck and her ears. She was sure she was now fully crimson – as red as a cherry. She heard Dorian let out a small hiss of disapproval and without looking knew he was swelling up and puffing out his chest as he readied himself to start an argument. But no, not _now_. It was neither the time or the place, and she had better things to do than referee this petty spat. So Elayne, with a derisive snort of her own drew herself up to her full height, picked up her skirts and pushed past both of them into the main hall. Smiling and composed as an anxious Josephine rushed up to her, ushering her into one of the grand reception rooms.

 

* * *

 

 “This is a farce, my lord Dorian. If you expect me to believe that you of all people –”

 “The only farce my dear, is your outfit.” The Tevinter mage retorted. He was standing on the plush carpet beneath the chandelier in the middle of the room; knee deep in an argument.

 “If you have come here to bully me all the way back to my homeland, you are a highly mistaken.”

 “I have come here because I know my _duty_ Altus Pavus.” The woman sitting on the lavish Orlesian chaise-long retorted, not missing a beat. “You father requests that you come _home_ and that you are needed. I am here to make sure that that message is relayed to you. What you choose to do with that information is your own affair, but after this my duty to your family is over. You have slighted me enough for one lifetime.”

 “You danced with another man at the Coronation ball in front of two hundred onlookers, and yet I’ve slighted you? Has my mother sent you to remind me of all my wrongdoings? Does she hope to chastise me back back home? Or do they realize I will be obliged to run in the opposite direction of wherever it is that you decide to stay?”

 Her gooseberry green eyes sparkled up at him, her neat pitch black hair elegantly curled around her head in attractive waves as she fluttered her ostrich fan before her face in a reflexive movement.

 “What do you get out of this?” He snapped, “There was never any love lost between us, what is it that you want?”

 Slowly she blinked her eyelids at him, “I am merely fulfilling my duty Dorian. Perhaps it is something you have forgotten existed after coming _here_.” She didn’t try to keep the disdain out of her voice as her eyes flicked poisonously across the room to where Elayne sat, unashamedly helping herself to some hors d'oeuvre in the corner. Dorian sent her a look of ‘stop stuffing your face’ and returned his attention to the woman reclined before him, like a lioness curled up ready to pounce from the chaise-long.

 “I would prefer if you kept my fiancé out of this,” he said coldly. “We were told you had information that could only be relayed in person, and that was of importance.”

 “But who is she?” The gooseberry eyes were glittering now.

 “I introduced you not ten minutes ago.” Dorian repeated, his voice still cold and sounding bored now. “This is Lady Elayne Trevelyan of the Free Marches.”

 Elayne thought she could hear the woman murmur ‘barbarians’ under her breath. But Dorian continued raising his voice, “But seeing as you seem to be suffering from short term memory loss, I shall introduce you again. My love?”

 He turned round extending his hand to Elayne, who rose from her seat taking it graciously as Dorian kissed her outstretched fingers.

 “My darling?” Her hazel eyes sparkled wickedly back at his.

 “This is Lady Sibyl of house Vane, tenth cousin to Aurelian Titus. We were once betrothed for a brief period before my departure from Tevinter. Sibyl, this is Lady Elayne Trevelyan of the Free Marches, Leader of the Inquisition.”

 “Ah, the infamous Herald of the Heretic Andraste. Yes, I’ve heard the stories. We do not recognize the Inquisition in Tevinter.” She said, the last part uttered so finally it was as if that belief meant that the Inquisition could not exist outside of the walls of Skyhold.

 “How nice for you.” Dorian replied mockingly, “I rather wish things _I_ did not recognize would similarly disappear.” He finished his sentence short, with a heavy implication that this included her, but Sibyl pressed on as if he hadn’t spoken.

 “I do hope that you’ll have a happy life together.” She continued, “Although I rather do worry he will run away at the alter, it would be such a shame to jilt such a pretty girl. But then again he _is rather good_ at running away, isn’t he?”

 Elayne bit this inside of her lip and smiled pleasantly back. Why was _everybody_ trying to get under her skin today? 

“I believe Dorian rather hoped,” she took his hand in her own for added effect, showing them standing together one. “That you would give us this information. He has told me much of your cleverness and of your political influence in Tevinter. We will help if there is any possible way to do so, we do not lack the means, and we have support, manpower and finances.”

 Lady Vane sat back in the chaise-long, twirling the black ostritch fan between her fingers. The handle was mother of pearl, and the long slats were made from polished silver. Every now and again Elayne caught the reflection of herself in the shiny metal surface, the deep rich colour of her dress, the charcoal of Dorian’s suit and the yellow of her collar. Lady Vane surveyed Elayne through her hard green gooseberry eyes for a full minute, as if she were making up her mind.

Finally she said, “Corypheus brings great shame to my people, to my nation. We are the cradle of civilization for humanity, our empire is one of the greatest empires to have ever existed on the face of Thedas. I will not sit idly about as Corypheus brings another blight into our lands, and neither will I let the countries of Thedas blame Tevinter because some … some _abomination_ claims he is a long dead Magister.” She almost spat out the last words, so deep seated was her disgust.

 “I am proud of my people but I will not apologize for the mistakes of one man who claims himself to be a God, and neither will I sit back as he persuades others to follow him on his psychotic crusade to crown himself as the new Maker. He claims to be of _our_ blood, of the _old blood_. He claims to want to raise Tevinter again to all her former glory and to conquer the rest of Thedas in Tevinter’s name.”

 “Why may I ask; do you not believe him?” Elayne asked quietly, Dorian was still by her side now. Listening intently.

 “Because I am not a fool,” Sibyl snapped back. “I have eyes, ears and a brain. I have heard enough and seen enough. You have taken away a willing army from him, stripped him of his demons, taken from him a powerful weapon.” She stole a furtive look here at Elayne’s right hand.  “He looks round now for a last assault – who can he persuade? The islands of Par Vollen and Seheron? Maybe, but he would have to enslave the Qunari before they would bear his yoke, they are already indoctrinated to the Qun and will not follow his lead willingly. Ferelden is still recovering from the blight, the Free Marches and Orlais have been turned upside down by the Mage and Templar war because you cannot control your populace. Where else has he to turn? For centuries we have fought the Qunari _unaided_ , we are a proud and mighty nation. We have both the infrastructure and resources, if used properly to wage war.”

 Dorian took a quick step forwards, “Is he in Tevinter? Have you seen him?”

 “No, he is not a _fool_ Altus Pavus.” Sibyl scoffed, flicking her fan at him as if to swat away an annoying fly. “He sends his agents and his emissaries to pave the way with golden words and lies, already they have a footing in Minrathous. Your _home_. How long do you think caution and reason will hold sway? Many yearn for the empire of old. So how long does he fan the flames before the wildfire starts? Already people in the capital whisper his name behind closed doors. His representatives walked into the Chambers of Deliberation on foot and went _unchallenged_ , then they hold court in our Senate. What after? Do they take the hood from the Archeon and crown themselves rulers of Tevinter? This has already gone too far.”

 “They walked into the sacred Chambers?” Dorian’s face had gone pale. “And they went unchallenged?”

 “They were _applauded_ , Altus Pavus.”

 Dorian looked ashen, for a moment he seemed temporarily speechless.  

 “What support does he have?”

 “None will come forward and say they support Corypheus – no one has openly spoken his name. But Lord Coven and his sister Herron act as his mouth. They seemed to be backed by some nobility or they have relatives in the Old Port of Minrathous.”

 Elayne looked to Dorian for an explanation as to what that meant, he turned aside to address her.

 “It’s a region of the city, one of the oldest regions actually. It’s virtually untouched by the outside world, nobility and other king-makers live there. They all have money, and lots of it. Or very generous sponsors.”

 “So what is it that Corypheus’s mouth proposes to do then?”

Lady Vane touched her ostrich feathers to her crimson stained lips, Elayne found herself watching the movement with fascination thinking that it was both clever and sharp yet it was a pleasing shape.

 “My dear Dorian,” Sibyl Vane crowed, “What do you _think_ he was promised?”

 Dorian raised an eyebrow at her, his moustache twitching irritably.

 “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.” He snapped, Elayne felt he would liked to have tacked a few words onto the end of his sentence but had restrained himself from doing so. She placed her hand over his and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

 “Well Lord Pavus, I can only say I hope your future bride isn’t as disappointed as I in your intelligence. Your father did boast to my mother of your extraordinary acumen and talent when he proposed our betrothal. I see now it was all hot air.”

 “He has promised them victory against the Qunari.” Elayne said suddenly as it all seemed to click into place. “Tevinter will rise again without any outside help, and in doing so he will conquer two nations.”

 “Clever girl.”

 Dorian shot her a scathing look. 

“And they _believe_ him?” He asked incredulously. “People seriously believe that an eight-hundred year old walking corpse is going to deliver Tevinter into some sort of golden age?”

 “The armies of the Qunari knock on our gates almost hourly Dorian, what do they have to lose by joining him? They think they have everything to gain.”

 “This cannot be allowed to happen,” there was a note of panic in Dorian’s voice now. “He cannot be allowed to gain a foothold in Minrathous – it would destroy Tevinter. Look what he did to the Templars and what he tried to do to the mages in Redcliffe. Already our own mages are not bound by the same strict rules as their southern brethren.” He ran his hand through his hair and looked distressed.

 “It will not take much to persuade them that there is knowledge and power to be gained through practicing more long forgotten arts.”

 At that Lady Vane stood up and Elayne allowed herself a moment to admire her. She was a tall attractive woman of slender build and of fashionable features, her gooseberry eyes sparkled with an intelligence and wit that animated her face and made her almost startling to look upon.

 “And now Dorian, I have fulfilled the promise that I made to both your mother and mine. I am now no longer obligated to House Pavus.” She gave him a small mocking courtesy.

 “Do what you will with this information, I leave for Tevinter on the morrow.” She turned to address Elayne now, stretching out both her hands to receive the Herald’s.

 “I am told my quarters are on the second floor. You’ll forgive me for my rudeness but think I will take a bite to eat in my chambers alone for a while, the journey here has been long and exhausting. I would however enjoy a turn about the grounds with you later Lady Trevelyan if you’ll grace me with your company.”

 “Of course,” Elayne responded without thinking, the manners her mother had impressed on her since early childhood working as a primary reflex. Dorian looked pained beyond all measure. “I would love to.”

 “Excellent,” Lady Sybil replied sweetly. “We must come to know each other better you and I, I have many things to tell and to ask you about yourself and this…charming Inquisition. No doubt you will questions for me too.”

 Elayne Trevelyan smiled, “Of course, I have been wondering throughout this meeting however how long you’ve known Dorian Pavus for?”

 From the corner of her eye she could see Dorian making a disgusted face at this comment, and Sybil replied in kind with a saccharine sweet voice that looked like it set all the hairs on the nape of Dorian’s neck erect and to attention.  “I have known Lord Pavus since he was a babe in swaddling clothes.” And with a catty smile in Dorian’s direction she left the room closing the door behind her.

 A string of expletives burst forth from Dorian’s mouth the second he thought she was out of earshot.

 “That…that **woman**.”

 “Well observed, she is indeed a woman.”

 “Must she hound me to the ends of the earth!?” He was pacing angrily about the room now, swinging his arms this-way-and-that.  “And my family, sending her instead of a neutral envoy. **Ha**.”

 “I suppose,” Elayne said slowly, “That they knew you would listen if she was the one delivering the message.”

 “I would swim through a lake of leeches to get away from her.” Dorian spat, his hair in fantastic disarray. “Can you imagine being betrothed to that… that monster? Oh it was a year of **hell**.”

 He massaged his temples with his forefingers as merely recalling the memory of this had given him a migraine.

 “She is too smart to lie, and too cunning to be beguiled into leaving unless she thought it was urgent. I cannot believe she will return by herself tomorrow – she knows she has to leave _with me_. That’s the reason she’s come here, to fetch me back.”

 “Do you believe this information about Corypheus is a ruse then? An elaborate plan for a long overdue homecoming?”

 “Do you?” He was looking at her pleadingly with his large deep brown eyes.

 “I fear it sounds plausible Dorian, we have not heard from Corypheus since our last encounter at Mythal’s temple. It is not unimaginable that so thwarted he would seek other means to get what he wants.”

 “Fuck.”

 She nodded in agreement. His complexion was ashen and she stepped forwards to pull him into an embrace.

 “I shall have to go.” He whispered into her ear, holding onto her shoulders tightly as if he might fall down.  “If this really is the case I shall have to go back.”

 Elayne squeezed him tighter, ruffling his hair gently with her left hand. She let her thoughts cascade and merge into each other, following a natural current as they gathered momentum and force.

 “No.” She said quietly but firmly against his neck.

 “No?” He drew back looking perplexed.

 Elayne Trevelyan drew herself up to her full height and tucked some stray unruly curls back behind her ears.

 “No Dorian, you shall not go alone.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy writing this, I don't know if it's enjoyable to read - I hope it is anyway, it's fun to write.


	4. Chapter Three - The Long Road pt I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies this took so long, unfortunately I became unbearably busy/stressed and whatever I seemed to write or whatever came to mind seemed somewhat shit. I hope this is enjoyable at least.

 

 

 

 

 

> When everything is said and done, to looking for answers if only one. Turn my back the urge has gone, left with no reason we come undone.

 

**Chapter Three - The Long Road (Part I)**

“I can’t believe you’ve done this.” Dorian’s voice was churlish as the carriage swung nauseatingly from side to side down the beaten track. With her fingers clasped against the rail Elayne could make out the mulish set of his jaw as he sat; sprawled grumpily like an irritable bear across the carriage seat.

“I mean; we could have thrown him overboard as we crossed the Waking Sea.”

She rolled her eyes and concentrated on how hard she could press her fingers into the hardwood of the rail, watching as her knuckles turned from dark brown to snow white.

Dorian shot her a sly look, noting that she was ignoring him. So he continued in a truculent tone. “I mean really; I get on with everyone. Look at me, what’s not to like? But he is simply _impossible_.”

He looked at her again for a response, and answer came there none. “I may be a tad sensitive, but the way he dresses should be classed as nothing less than crime.”

Still nothing.

“I mean I understand Tevinter has a _less_ than friendly history when it comes to the Elven, but I was merely trying to make our disguise look more convincing. Surely he knows it was all part of the act.”

Maker, spare her.

Elayne felt herself roll her eyes so hard behind her closed lids that she almost hurt herself.

“And **you**!” he began accusatorily. ‘Here he goes,’ she thought. She had been waiting for this.  “ **You** didn’t say a word.”

Elayne mumbled an incomprehensible oath, turning her head to face the window of the carriage; hand still clutched unrelentingly on the rail.

“What was that?!” Dorian challenged, sitting up finally. Hand cupped to his ear in theatrical display of trying to catch her words.

“Was it: I’m sorry my dear husband for allowing that hobo-elf-man to make a fool out of you in front of the entire crew?”

She bit her lip. “Dorian.”

“Yes?” He looked at her expectantly, eyes wide and flashing as they bobbed up and down on the uneven road.

“I just felt that asking him to fetch you your slippers in front all of the passengers was probably going to end badly.”

“He threw _them in my face_.”

“Well… he technically did _give_ them to you.”

He glared at her.

“What Sibyl must have thought, I don’t know. He can’t even keep control of his house servants never mind his wife-to-be. _Must_ you have burst out laughing by the way?”

Elayne hung her head in slightly over exaggerated shame; “I am sorry, dear husband.” She said demurely, peeking at him from under her eyelashes. “I’ll try to do better next time.”

“At this rate I’d be better off trading you in for ten nugs. My mother warned me. ‘Those Free Marchers, they’re no good. Too high spirited. _Mouthy_. Don’t know when to respect their men. Minds of their own.’”

Elayne choked back a laugh.

She stretched out her hand to lay it on his, “Will you still marry me Dorian?”

He looked witheringly at her from behind his moustache. “And pollute the house of Pavus? You are treading on thin ice Lady Trevelyan; I might have to send you packing.”

“Packed off with a smacked bottom my Lord?”

“What a foul mouth our Lady Inquisitor has; I should be mortified to walk with you in public.”

“I shall cover my face in shame my lord.” Eyes still downcast, hands now folded demurely in her lap as the carriage swayed them this way and that.

“Good.” He folded his arms crossly and looked out the window, his voice obstinate.

“And shall flagellate myself hourly, my lord.”

“Oh _don’t_ overdo it.” Dorian snapped back, looking irritated with himself as he forced back a smile. “You’ll ruin all of the nice clothes I went to the trouble of buying for you.”

She fluttered her eyelashes prettily at him and he chuckled. He still she noticed, had a slightly purplish mark on his left eye where Solas had caught him with the heel of the slipper. She swallowed down a grin and squeezed his hands firmly beneath her own.

Dorian snorted, slipping down the seat again. A wide smile tugging at his lips.

“I should have unpacked my hat.” He moaned, making to drop a handkerchief across his eyes. “That silly elf won’t get it for me.”

“I understand you respect ‘The Craft’ Dorian, my love. But I do believe in such a thing as taking being-in-character a little too far.”

“He’s _such_ a spoilsport.” Dorian moaned, “He’s never up for anything fun. If I’d asked Bull to fetch me my slippers he would have been professional about it, I can assure you. Slippers _and_ brandy. Why couldn’t you have brought Bull as our personal manservant, why does it have to be Solas?”

“Oh yes, I can just imagine walking into Tevinter with Bull dressed up as an oversized elf. I somehow feel the horns might give the game away.”

Dorian flapped his hand at Elayne as if this fact was of little consequence. “My darling, all we need do is find the right sort of hat.”

“A hat?”

“A good hat can cover a multitude of sins.”

“Including being Qunari?”

“It’s a pity really that Cole won’t give his hat to Solas.” Dorian commented changing the topic to his current favourite subject. “Then we would all be spared at from looking at his face.”

Elayne gave an exasperated sigh, giving up completely on the conversation. She turned instead and looked out the back window. Behind them their entourage of carriages, horses and guards followed on behind. Torches were being lit as the sun began to dip behind the horizon, illuminating the figures clad in armour. She could see Cassandra’s scowling face a few meters behind them, too stubborn to sit in a carriage herself, she walked her horse among her men. Her eyes moving across the path ahead scanning for trouble.

They had left Lilliana, Vivienne, Sera and Cullen behind to watch Skyhold; much to the Lord Commander’s protest and late night arguments with Elayne before she had left. Their last heated conversation had lasted over three hours and had spanned into the small hours of the morning before Cullen had come to his senses and insisted that she go to bed.

Her relationship with Cullen had changed of late Elayne thought, he had always been quiet and intense but there was something in the way his eyes had lingered on her as she had walked across the Ballroom of Halamshiral. A long lingering look at had made her feel peculiar. She thought she had caught some of the servants smirking at her from the corners of the grand ballroom throughout the night; but nothing had come of it. Solas had followed her onto the balcony after the events of that tiring day and she had finally relaxed next to her friend, knowing that the immediate danger was over. Part of her, a small secret part, had hoped for Cullen. But the awkward exchange that had occurred as the Knight Commander had also made his way onto the balcony just as Solas was explaining the intricate parts of ancient Elven waltzes to her had made this secret desire seem foolish.

Still she had promised (because he had asked her) to write as often as she could and he had promised to meet her – _them_ , even; as soon as the army and fortification at Skyhold was able to run without him.

“I will see you _soon_.” He had said on the last occasion they had been together as she had been gathering her things to leave, checking and rechecking that her possessions had been moved from her quarters.

“You will.” She had returned smiling back at him. Far below them she could make out the impatient noises of Varric and Iron Bull calling her down.

“And you will be safe.” He said a little emphatically, and then looked embarrassed to have used such a tone.

“I will, I promise.”

They had stood a little uneasily across from each other, neither of them quite sure of how to finish the exchange. Did she move forward to embrace him? Was that too forward? Would it be giving him to wrong impression? Maker, what was the _right_ impression? She had felt heat gather in her face and saw it mirrored in his own.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan.” He made to bow but she stopped him. “Please use my name, Cullen.”

His flush deepened, as did hers.

“Inquisitor Elayne.”

“ _Just_ my name.”

He had paused for a second as if comprehending what to say. Lord, when had her room become a furnace? He looked as pink as she felt as he said “Elayne” with such a softness that she almost didn’t catch the sound as it left his lips. His bow was low, his eyes dark and intense, never leaving hers for a second as she curtseyed back to him.

For what seemed an eternity no one said anything; he looked like he was searching for something to say. She opened her mouth, but made no noise less she ruin the moment. She blinked and he seemed to struggle with something as if trying to make up his mind, his body swaying; and then in a moment it was over as the door crashed open downstairs breaking the spell that had been cast over the two of them.

“Come on my Lady. We need to leave _now_.” The reverie broken she had dashed down the stairs, both of their faces had been lobster pink from the exchange.  

No, Elayne thought firmly bringing herself to the here and now as the carriage swayed from side to side. She had promised her brother; No Templars.

Elayne Trevelyan pressed her face a closer to the glass, so she could just make out the floppy silhouette of Cole’s hat as he sat on top of one of the carts. To the right of him she could see the massive shape of Iron Bull. No doubt surrounded by his entourage: The Chargers. Somewhere behind them a large passenger carriage would be carrying the rest of their troop along. They had spent a long time on the road now with minimal stops on their passage from the Waking Sea and through the Free Marches. They had stopped much to Varric’s delight and Cassandra’s disdain at Kirkwall to resupply and to refresh the horses before pushing North through the mountains, avoiding the borders of Nevarra as much as possible. As they pushed up, crossing the winding body of the Minanter River, Elayne had begun to suffer pangs of longing for her family home. She was so close and yet so far, she felt it claw at her insides uneasily as she lay trying to sleep at night.

They were due another stop tonight if they made it on time. The horses needed rest and she felt that the spirits of the party needed perking up after their long journey. Food, fire, a roof, an actual mattress beneath her back and head. Yes, that was what she needed. A small escape from this endless drudgery.   

She turned back to Dorian.

“You know that really should be _you_ in the carriage front entertaining our dear Tevinter guest. _Not_ Josephine.”

The mage tried not to look too guilty. “How important is it to you that I don’t set myself on fire?”

“Sometimes my dear husband, we all have to do things we don’t like.”

“My darling,” he said taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips to kiss. “I do so frequently. If Josephine can tame that monster I shall hereby refer to her as Dragon Master and Silver Tongue for the rest of my life, it is an excellent test of her ambassador-ing skills. Anyway I thought it was only natural for a giddy husband-to-be to want to spend as much time as possible with his would-be-wife.”

 “How convenient for you.”

“I am _such_ a lucky man to be marrying such an understanding lady.”

“And I am _such_ a lucky woman to be marrying such a gregarious, handsome and charming husband. I can only imagine how desperate you must be to catch up with Lady Vane after being parted from her for so long. I must _insist_ you sit next to her at dinner.”

Dorian’s face could have curdled raw milk.

* * *

 

“He must not come in.” Lady Vane was adamant, hands on her hips as the length of her long black dress spooled across the floor of the inn like a growing ink stain.

“He is part of the Inquisition and a trusted colleague,” Josephine began in her best ‘smoothing over voice’ but Sybil was having none of it.

“I do not care if he is the Sultan of the King’s pyjamas.” She snapped. “He is a Qunari, I will not sleep under the same roof as a Qunari.”

“I assure you Madame…” Bull began but she stretched out her hand to silence him.

“I do not care what you say to me.” She snarled, her electric gooseberry irises flashing from her deep-set eyes, her face an angle of defiance. “I will not go back to my homeland knowing I have broken bread with our sworn enemy.”

“Lady Vane,” Cassandra said in her hard no-bullshit-tones, she looked tired from the long ride and irritable to be so close to a warm bed and yet so far away from its warm covers. “There must be a civilised solution. We are not going to exile our companion to the Korcari Wilds based on a whim. Iron Bull has provided invaluable service to the Inquisition and has been vital in our fight against Corypheus. We would not be here without his help.”

“He is a **Ben-Hassrath** ; he is not to be trusted.” Sybil all but spat; looking at Iron Bull with fire in her eyes. “Had I know that you were to drag this overgrown two-legged dragonspawn with us, I would have insisted on travelling alone.”

She turned her attention to Dorian with what seemed like Hellfire wrapped around her body, lighting her up from within. “Is this what I am to tell your family? Not only have you crawled on your belly into the South but now you insist on carrying the enemy back to your home? Are you a traitor? Because I will not sit idly by if the Imperial Senate turn their eye to your _many_ digressions from our law in light of this.”

“I had forgotten,” Dorian ground out from behind clenched teeth, rolling up his sleeves beneath his travelling cloak and instinctively reaching for his staff. “How pleasant our conversations could be.”

Sybil had seen his movement too, and typically not to be outdone had also reached for her own stave. Elayne sensing that the two of them if left to their own devices would probably burn the inn to the ground made a grab for Dorian’s arm, dragging his hand away from his Elmwood staff.

“I am sure,” Varric said cautiously both hands raised in a gesture of surrender, “That there is a logical compromise somewhere that doesn’t involve roasting these poor townsfolk to a crisp in the crossfire. Bull is obviously our trusted colleague and we are not about to throw him to the bears, however in light of the political strife in Tevinter perhaps Bull and the Charger’s efforts would be best suited to keeping the men company and our perimeter safe tonight?”

“As long as they sleep outside and _far_ away from me.” Sybil snapped eyeing Dorian with a look that promised nothing short of hatred. 

“I’m sure,” Varric said in a placating tone as Elayne started forward; objection already forming on her lips. “That an extra barrel of Antivian Fire Brandy can be secured for the troops.”

“Or three.” Bull muttered under his breath turning to signal at Krem to move outside and set up.

“Or five.” Varric corrected smoothly, ushering Dorian away and upstairs before he could cause any more trouble.

“Inquisitor,” he called from the landing as he shoved the protesting Tevinter mage through a doorway. “Don’t you have to put this one to bed?”

 

* * *

 

Elayne could not sleep. Sitting awake in bed in the early hours of the morning she listened to the rhythmic snoring of her friend, who was lying diagonally across the mattress. He was like a cuckoo she thought, determined to push her onto the floor as he slept. Limbs sprawled out like a starfish, moustache twitching as he breathed in and out through his mouth. He was dressed in striped pyjamas and looked Elayne thought, faintly ridiculous as she had sat melancholy and exhausted on the bed swathed in darkness.

 Of course she was still awake, hours after Dorian had slipped into a noisy slumber. Thoughts muddling across her head at the speed of light as she stared up at the ceiling, wondering what would happen to them as they crossed the border into Tevinter. The idea of it filled her with equal amounts of dread as it did excitement. She longed to see the waves of the Nocen sea, to see the grey cliffs of Minrathous that Dorian had told her about with such rapturous detail. To gaze in wonder upon the cities of Vyrantium, Marnus Pell and Asariel. She understood that there was bad blood between the South and the people of Tevinter, wars that trailed hundreds of years through time could not be so easily forgotten. Lands splintering between nations, people’s homes disappearing into mires of smoke. But Tevinter had been the cradle of human civilisation, and no matter how darkly Solas spoke of the Magisterium there was a part of her that was awed by the idea of a nation governed by Mages. Indeed, hadn’t the ancient Elven empire been exactly the same? And was her mother’s blood not related to some of the Tevinter nobility? It seemed to call to her this dark mysterious land.

She turned this over in her mind for a moment, her toes cold beneath the covers as she clasped them with her fingers. Knees drawn up to her chest. It made Dorian and herself…16th half cousins? She smiled at the idea of her brother Asher’s remark to this. Would Dorian like Asher? They were more than a little like each other she thought on reflection, both hot tempered, gregarious and handsome. Her stomach twisted again thinking about home. She had seen little of the Free Marches since they had arrived at Kirkwall after their passage across the sea. She was home finally and yet so far away. Perhaps if there was time on the way back she could see her parents briefly.

The knot in her stomach intensified, _if_ there was time. _If_ she was not murdered or captured by the Tevinter Imperium. She had already written to her brothers, but knew not if there would be time enough to see them before crossing the border. Last she had heard Roderick had been on a journey to Highever, that had been what… two months ago?

She sighed, resigned to the fact that sleep would not come for her for at least another hour. She felt wide awake and alert. Perhaps a walk would do her good, then a cup of cocoa with a shot of Fire Brandy? If that did not do the trick, then she would practice her magic in the vegetable garden until the sun came up.

Quietly Elayne slid out of bed, careful to not disturb the snoring rumbling mountain that was Lord Pavus. She searched the room for her slippers, placing her feet carefully and flatly on each wooden floorboard to muffle the noise of her wandering about in the middle of the night. Her dark fierce hair lay loose down her back like a cloak across her shoulders. She placed the slippers on her feet and slid noiselessly out the door, pausing in the hallway to look up and down the corridors. Not a soul seemed to move in the entire inn. The servants were no doubt fast asleep at this point. Good, she thought, that would make her eventual journey to the kitchen less troublesome if the keen eyed cook was asleep. Maker knew they all deserved a break after the pig’s eye that had been made out of dinner. The seating arrangements had almost started a war with Dorian and Sybil giving each other such a stink eye it had almost been impossible to manage any conversation without venom being spat across the table at any given moment. She could see what a charming couple they would have made – no wonder Dorian had never seemed very keen on returning home before this.

Josephine had looked as if she was almost about to cry as Dorian had declared he would rather sit next to Darkspawn and Sybil had icily retorted that he already looked like he had caught the Blight.

Honestly, if Elayne had not known that Dorian was gay she would have thought them madly attracted to each other.

“Perhaps they are too alike to get on.” She murmured to herself as she softly descended the stairs. She had left her travel cloak by the main door, but she would exit by the back she thought. The great hearth still flickered with the orange light of warm embers as she crossed the floor to the cloakroom; battling for a moment through everyone’s things to find her own. She emerged triumphant, flinging the article of clothing across her shoulders and tossing her hair down her back as she considered her best route of escape into the grounds.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan, what are you doing at such an early hour?”

Elayne jumped what felt to be half a foot in the air, electricity and fire snapping reflexively at her fingers as she was pervaded with shock.

“I-I…” she stammered, hand to her breastbone. “Did not see you there.”

Solas gave one of his small curious smiles, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What are you doing at this hour?” She asked flushed, her heart hammering madly within her chest wall.

Solas gave a small shrug, gesturing to his surroundings. A wide arm chair drawn up against the fire, an open book on his lap. “Should you not be sleeping Inquisitor? You’ll have a long day ahead of you tomorrow minding ‘the children’.”

Elayne ignored the barely concealed slur directed no doubt towards Dorian and their distinguished Tevinter guest. She instead turned the question back to him. “Should you not also? We have a long journey ahead of us before we cross the Silent Plains.”

Solas nodded almost imperceptibly at her remark, his eyes for a second lingering enquiringly on her long dark unbound hair as if he was unsure of whether to look at it or not. He’d never seen her before with her hair undone it suddenly occurred to her, such a stubborn mess as it usually was she always kept it tightly pinned back unless she slept.

“A fair question Inquisitor.” He admitted, “But I have done enough of sleeping recently.”

She frowned at him unsure of what he meant, noting the cryptic smile that crossed his face as he spoke did.

“What are you reading?”

“A book.”

She raised her eyebrows, “Say it isn’t so.”

“I promise you it is nothing of interest,” he smiled at her this time genuine. “A recount of the history of this area.”

“You mean the Free Marches.”

“Indeed, and a little beyond these borders.” He paused, getting up from the chair. He was still in his outdoor clothes Elayne noted, feet bare as always.

“Would you appreciate some company on your midnight stroll?”

“Who said I was going for any sort of stroll?”

This was the first time they had spoken together properly since their spat on the stairs to her chambers when Lady Vane had first arrived. Neither had apologised to each other for the incident and she very much doubted either of them ever would.

“Well, unless you are usually in the habit of wondering about houses in your travelling cloak and slippers Herald, I think you are very much in danger of roaming outside.”

She smiled, she would she thought enjoy the walk more with someone to talk to. It wouldn’t take much to encourage Solas to tell her about some of his travels in the Fade.

“I would very much enjoy the company.” In her mind she prayed that Lady Sybil Vane would not lean out of window on some sort of serendipitous whim and catch her walking across the grounds in the early hours of the morning with her ‘personal manservant’. That would make tomorrow far too much to endure.

They walked together towards the kitchens, Solas uncharacteristically offering her his arm. Perhaps as a silent form of apology from their last encounter? They were almost exactly the same height. He tall for an elf and she tall for a woman. She took his arm without pause, smiling. She had the feeling he didn’t present it often for women to take.

They entered the kitchen together, Solas talking in low tones about the shape that their journey had so far taken, he reached across the cabinet to find the key to the backdoor somewhere behind the iron pots and wooden spoons when a deep rich velvety voice danced across the room towards them.

“A midnight tryst? How excellent, everyone does enjoy a good scandal.”

Elayne jumped for the second time that night, Solas managed to look only marginally annoyed as Varric set down his pipe on the large oak wood scrubbed table amongst the playing cards he had been gathering up. A recently snuffed out candle dripped wax onto the wooden rivets of the kitchen table, slowly solidifying into white waxen puddles.

“Well you know me, Varric.” Elayne replied grinning. “I’m always up for a good scandal.”

“Maker preserve us. I always knew you were trouble; I suppose I couldn’t convince you on joining me for a quick game of Wicked Grace?”

“I feel a quick stroll around the grounds might be more conducive to sleep.”

The dwarf nodded pushing his chair away from the table, “Then allow this old Geriatric Dwarf to chaperone you two young’uns. Two nugs are always better than one my father used to say.”

“Does she need chaperoning?” Solas asked and Elayne thought she could detect a slight tension to his tone.

Varric laughed, “Would you deny an old dwarf of the pleasure of basking in the Herald’s company, Chuckles? Or are you determined to enjoy her alone?”

Solas did not answer this question, instead he turned away to open the door seemingly ignoring the Dwarf’s query. Varric gave Elayne a wink as she stepped through the archway and out into the grounds, inhaling the midnight air and filling her lungs to the brim with the cool night air and tilting her face up to the light of the moon.

She grinned, twirling around on the spot quiet forgetting herself and her present company. She was relieved was she just to be outside and free. It was so liberating to not be performing under the ridiculous weight of being the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, Dorian’s Betrothed, the person everyone looked to for all the answers.

 Elayne stopped a little dizzy, slightly flushed, catching Varric’s eye and bursting into quiet suppressed laughter as the dwarf waggled his eyebrows at her mischievously. Solas said nothing, but watched her his face almost expressionless.

“Getting a little cabin fever are we Inquisitor?” Asked Varric.

“I feel like I’m going slightly mad.” Elayne admitted, “Baby sitting is tiring. I shall never understand how my parents managed it with four children.”

They set off across the grounds together, the white foundations of the Inn sat behind them illuminated in the moonlight like the last saloon in an endless desert of green; the dark scalloped edges of trees lining the horizon in a deep inky blackness that stretched into the sky with tall tapering fingers.

“Are you the youngest Boss?”

“Second youngest,” Elayne stretched her arms up to meet the sky, shaking her long hair out. “Three brothers.”

“Ouch, that must have been fun.”

“It was, and painful. My brothers assure me I am quite ungovernable, as if they can talk – I’ve been raised far too headstrong for my own good.”

“I think I may have met one of your brother’s once.” Varric said thoughtfully, pausing for a moment to consider. “At a council after the Chantry of Kirkwall was destroyed. Tall, dark hair? Walks with a slight limp.”

“That sounds like Roderick.” Elayne answered beaming.

“I liked him, sensible man. Easy on the eyes too.” She laughed. “Why does he walk with a limp?” Solas asked.

She paused and answered quickly, “He was thrown from a horse once.” The elf opened his mouth to speak again but she quickly changed the subject not willing to answer more.

“Ah, I see Bull and the Chargers.” She said swiftly changing pace, hurrying to meet them and escape the conversation.

They found Krem on watch with several of the foot soldiers, their great tents mounted like small peaked hills against the dark of the night.

“This is unexpected Boss,” Krem said standing up to greet the Inquisitor as she, Solas and Varric approached the encampment. “Do I need to rouse the troops?”

“As you were,” Elayne replied moving towards the dancing light of the fire that her men were huddled around. “I just can’t sleep. I trust everyone is doing well? No problems? I’m sorry you’re out here tonight.”

Krem shrugged, “I wouldn’t get too worked up about it Boss. To be honest I think this suits us better to be out here, might not be the wisest idea to house these guys up with the Vint Mages.” He jerked his thumb back to indicate the sleeping Chargers behind him.

“Someone might think it was a good idea to light up one of those cherry bombs with a short fuse as a joke.”

“I hear it’s terribly hard to get Cherry bomb stains out of upholstery.” Varric concurred.

“Still not to complain,” Krem added noting Elayne’s slightly anxious expression. “Thanks for the Fire Brandy.”

“Any signs of trouble?”

“Not so much as a peep so far Boss, one of the patrols should be back soon then I might go for a wonder myself.”

“We shall try not to bother you further then.” Solas interjected and Krem nodded.

They left the Chargers and soldiers to their own devices and walked further down into the grounds.

Their talked soon turned to that of Tevinter and Corypheus; Elayne allowed to words to wash over her like breakers on a frothing tide.

“Varric,” Solas said after a moments consideration, “You fought Corypheus once before did you not?”

“It’s not my fondest memory Chuckles, but yes, I did.”

Elayne could hear Solas twist his staff between both hands as they walked, the familiar sound of calloused skin on wood as they moved through the green plains. “And you killed him. You were certain you killed him?”

“What’s on your mind?” Varric shot back, his tone less jovial now.

“I’m just thinking,” Solas replied, the reassuring sound of the stave swishing through the air as they walked. “He survived the explosion that destroyed the Conclave.”

Elayne felt her back stiffen a little at his words and drew her cloak tighter about her body. “If he can live through a blast that levels a mountaintop, we would do well to determine how.”

“I don’t see how that would help us Chuckles, the Wardens couldn’t kill him and they had a thousand years to figure it out.”

“Perhaps we have knowledge now that they do not.” Solas returned, Elayne sensed more than saw the elf’s glance in her direction. Was that another veiled reference to her so-called disobedience when she had drunk from the Well of Sorrows? The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, she put it down to the fact that they were probably on the precipice of another argument. Dorian was right, she couldn’t escape the truth. Solas was prickly and she had no way of ignoring this quarrel.

“Look,” she said suddenly changing the subject and moving towards an abandoned building built on the edge of the Inn’s land. “I didn’t see this place as we approached.”

The structure was old and crumbling, built onto the side of a hill. A river trickled sluggishly by it, turning an ancient wooden mill. The soft groaning sound of the wheel rolled across the green grass towards them.

“I didn’t see this on our approach,” Elayne said perplexed, running one hand through her hair and twisting it around her hand reflexively.

“I didn’t either.” Varric concurred, sounding perplexed and crossing his arms.

“Strange.” Solas noted, continuing to walk towards it. “It appears unused – perhaps not noticeable at this position from the road.” He pointed to a bank of trees to their left. “They maybe would have masked our view.”

“Possibly.” Elayne agreed, although she didn’t feel totally convinced by this theory. “Is it abandoned?”

“Well there would truly be only one way to find out.” Solas replied pointedly, his expression a little mischievous. It was not unlike, Elayne thought the time he had invited her to walk alongside him in the fade. That felt like another lifetime ago.

“I shall never understand your penchant for walking through creepy unused and possibly haunted buildings in the middle of the night.” Varric interjected looking at the two of them as if they were mad.

It occurred to Elayne for the first time that she had left her staff propped up against her bed in her shared room with Dorian.

“I would have put it down as a human thing after sending a few hair raising years running around after Hawke, but he’s” he jerked his thumb towards Solas, “absolutely no better than you.” 

“You can always retire to bed Master Thethras.”

“What and miss out on all the fun? I’m not that old _yet_ Elf. Besides,” and he withdrew some small round shaped objects from his pouch, “Rocky lent me a few of these and I’ve been dying to use them for a while now.”

“Good to know you’re always equipped for emergencies.” Solas retorted, raising one eyebrow but looking amused. “Remind me not to sit next to you if the road ahead becomes bumpy.”

Elayne was not really listening to the two of them, she had moved ahead to push open to door overcome as she so often was by curiosity.

Inside the mill the still air was musty, to her right she could make out the outline of a torch hung on the nearest wall to her. She hesitated for a moment, her skin pricking with anticipation. The darkness inside the mill was complete, too dark to make anything out in the gloom, the little moonlight that penetrated the dusty or broken windows from outside cast strange long shadows across the floor.

Clicking her fingers, the torch burst into flame and she felt the familiar press of Solas against her back, whilst Varric hung back for a moment unsheathing Bianca.

“Well, this looks Mill-like enough.” Elayne said quietly, wondering why she was keeping her voice so low and so soft. The pricking was still going on at the back of her neck but she did her best to ignore it.

 “It does indeed,” Solas concurred gracefully stepping around her and moving ahead, the light from his own staff casting a gentle blue light into the corners. “Were you expecting treasure?”

“A dragon at the very least.” Elayne replied not missing a beat and fighting to overcome whatever feeling it was that was rising up inside of her. Perhaps she _had_ been sat in that carriage too long. She raised the torch higher, looking at the floorboards and noting the thick layer of dust that rose around their feet. Perhaps they should leave, there was obviously nothing here…

“Look!” Varric said suddenly, almost causing Elayne to jump. “Footprints can you see?” Both Solas and Elayne looked in the direction Varric was pointing towards the stairs leading up to the first floor. Indeed, there were footprints, recent ones leading up the flight of steps.

For some reason Elayne felt her heart flutter in her chest.

“Conceivably it could be one of the patrols?” Solas suggested looking curiously at the footprints and then up the stairs.

A strange sense of foreboding crackled up and down her spine, she swallowed it determinedly down. “Let’s find out.”

Their ascent seemed interminable, all three of them bound by silence staring about the mill, unable to shake off the pressing feeling of something foreboding being hidden in the darkness just out of reach.

“Boss,” Varric said in low tones as they ascended onto the landing, staring about themselves in the darkness seeing nothing out of the ordinary. “Do you sense anything?”

“Nothing.” Elayne said, hairs still pricking at the back of her neck.

“I can’t feel anything here.” Solas concurred.

She took a few steps forward towards noting their surroundings. The landing split off into two rooms opposite ends of the corridor away from each other, both with open doors gaping onto what seemed like endless tunnels of darkness. From each side the blackness and silence seemed to press down on them like a merciless storm.

Solas raised his staff, looking towards the room on their left. The light illuminated an empty room lined with cupboards no doubt for storing grain from when the mill had been operational. Elayne raised the arm that was carrying the torch towards the room on her right, the golden rays of the light source licked out against the gloom revealing another empty room. A dark silhouette of what she thought to be a mill stone stood alone in the middle of the wooden floor.

She took another step forwards, the darkness was almost oppressive as if something about this place absorbed light. She looked towards the back of the room, still nothing. What was it that was getting under her skin so much? Behind her she heard Varric mutter something and the footsteps of the dwarf moving. She looked again at the mill stone, her skin pricking almost painfully, determined to see _something_.

She took another step peering into the room this time, the dark almost seeming to reach out to touch her. She held her ground.

“Boss!” Varric’s tone suddenly became urgent and she made the mistake of turning to face him and as she did so out of the corner of her eye, so fixated had she been on the millstone she had missed it.

She saw the eye sockets, the rows of teeth leering out at her from the darkness, hungry, dripping with darkness as they lunged out towards her. It happened too fast for her to scream, black magic crackled through the air like lightening and she was thrown backwards and into the room with it.

The door slamming behind her as she hit the floor, dazed, separated from the panicked cry of Varric on the other side. The torch flew in a high arc across the room, clattering against the far wall where the flames licked against an old dusty curtain in seconds gaining momentum and blooming into a waterfall of flame. Breath squeezed itself from her chest as she fought to right herself, panicked and hands sweating as it bore down on her like a nightmare.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

> Défonce-toi, mais tu vas te faire défoncer
> 
>  

 

 

 


	5. Chapter Three - The Long Road pt 2

 

 

> Défonce-toi, mais tu vas te faire défoncer

 

**Chapter Three: The Long Road (Part II)**

Elayne lay half propped up on the floor dazed. Heart sitting in her mouth as she fought to right herself. In the flickering light she couldn’t make out the entirety of its shape, yellow flames blazing and spluttering as the room quickly began to fill with smoke. She felt the jagged ends of splinters digging into her hand as she sought for grip.

In the darkness she could make out the form of something undulating just beyond her range of vision, periodically accompanied by a startling thump of her heart as she thought could make out the whites of eye sockets; seemingly eyeless.

Elayne made a dash for the door, hurtling herself across the room, trying to blast the thing off its hinges. No luck. Black fire raged across wall, cutting off her exit. She knew instinctively that touching it would burn her flesh right down to the bone.

“Varric!” She yelled. “Solas!”

From behind her she heard a slow hissing like the turning of a piston, she twisted around and saw gaping endless jaws open wide. The firelight dancing off the teeth like prisms of deadly onyx as they lunged towards her. It seemed to have no head, no eyes, only a mouth. She threw her body sideways as it lunged at her, narrowly missing. It’s huge worm like body surging after it, a tower of dark grey wobbling flesh.

She could hear sounds on the other side of the door, but was unable to make out words. She was too acutely aware of her own trembling knees and shaking hands as she dashed to the other side of the room, towards the fire.

Was there a window? She thought, searching for a solution. Could she jump out? She would be burned but it was better than being eaten. She looked about her to find something to throw, to break the glass of the window and her hands found a large slab of plaster that had fallen from the ceiling.

The thing by the door was coiling itself, ready to spring. Teeth protruding madly from its body, tiny worm like protrusions flailing wildly across its dark greyish skin. The plaster crashed through the flame and the glass with a satisfying ‘smash’ and Elayne readied herself to jump but an unholy scream held her back, causing her to raise her hands to block her ears.

The creature lunged at the window, its mouth opening wider and wider as if it were about to engulf the whole world. Blackness poured from its mouth, wriggling towards her in a torrent of pitch-black shadow. She stumbled backwards and away as the tar like substance hit the wall, streaming out of the window and dousing the flames in a crackling hiss, immediately extinguishing her only source of light. The tar substance dripped, small particles spiralling off in all directions and running away like spiders across the floor. She watched as it solidified across the broken window cutting off all the remaining light from the moon. She was surrounded by pitch black.

Elayne tripped on an uneven floorboard as she tried to back away, her coccyx slamming into the hardwood sending jolts of pain throughout her body. She cried out in agony, tears stinging at her eyes as she wriggled away.

She could sense it coming closer. Was it looking at her? Smelling her? Sensing her? She didn’t know. She was acutely aware of its presence, the fact that it was preparing to strike again. She heard the piston like hiss and readied herself; digging deep.

Without a staff her magic was uncontrolled, there, but unruly like wildfire. It burst out of her, taking the form of her panic, hot licks of flame hurtling forwards and illuminating the huge projectile of its body as it came lunging towards her, causing it to change its trajectory at the last possible second. Her magic burnt her, singeing her hair and her clothes.

As it was engulfed in flame it screamed, or something like a scream. A sound that rattled her bones, freezing her blood. It hit the wall with a deafening thud somewhere to her right. She scrambled away, that tar like substance wiggling across the floorboards to touch her, trying to burn her further. She couldn’t see. She could feel it taking shape, preparing to swing at her again. She had nowhere to go, the door was still consumed by black fire and the window covered, she could not make out the roof or ceiling. Her hands cast desperately about her, fumbling, trying desperately to pick up anything that could help her.

There was an almighty crash as a fireball burst through the floor. Elayne screamed, shielding her face from the heat feeling the air in front of her roll with an inferno. The thing snarled, it’s wicked piston hiss intensifying as it crawled up to the ceiling, clinging to the wooden beams. It’s horrid cylindrical body curling up beneath it like a helix. The fireball had burnt a hole through the floor, splinters of floorboards had been thrown this way and that. Some reduced to black glowing embers, other pieces of wood were still alight. The room was filled with more smoke and rubble, but this was little consequence. Coughing, she scrambled to the hole, not caring where it led. As she moved forwards she saw Solas’s face bob into view, one hand clutched around his staff the other hand extended out towards her.

“Herald!” He shouted, ash and dirt covered his face.

Without a second thought Elayne flung herself at him. Bits of fire and wood catching in her loose hair as she dropped several feet down and into his arms. Her dress caught and ripped, revealing her long strong legs but she didn’t give it pause for thought. His chest crushed against her nose painfully as his arm wrapped across her back, pulling her towards him in a powerful motion. Safe.

Her relief was short lived.

“Chuckles!” She heard Varric shout somewhere close to them, there was an air of panic to his voice. The thing had bared down after her, pitching and keening like the monstrous hull of a nightmare ship. She felt Solas tense around her, throwing up a barrier and blocking off the hole with nanoseconds to spare before the teeth had descended down onto them. Sweat beaded on his forehead as it beat down against the blockade. Once, twice, three times. Each time striking the barrier with an immense boom that rattled the foundations of the Mill.

“We. Have. To. Get. Out. Of. Here.” Elayne panted, the syllables ripping at her chest as she struggled for oxygen, choking on the smoke, grit and dust she had just inhaled.  “We need to run.”

“Get the fuck away from here?” Varric shouted holding Bianca held at hip level, his fingers ready on the trigger. “Sounds like a plan to me!”

She grabbed Solas’s hand, running backwards towards the exit. The thing screamed again, that terrible bone rattling sound that seemed to want to sunder mountains and tear down the sky. The mill shook, bits of ceiling dropping from the roof like raindrops. Behind them they could hear some of the walls give way, crashing down on the stairwell as the foundation beams crumbled, filling the stairs with rubble. Smoke licked at their eyeballs and curled down into their lungs as they sprinted towards the outside. They were almost there, when an almighty crash tore down through the ceiling above them, and a dark mass placed itself between them and the exit. It was all rippling teeth attached to a huge sagging body, flesh lolloping about in swathes of dark grey bubbling pockets.

Elayne drew up sharply, feeling Solas collide painfully with her scapula knocking her forwards. He grabbed her waist, pulling her back against him and tugging her swiftly to the side as the creature jerked, withdrawing inside of itself like a headless snake before gushing a fountain of hot sticky liquid toward them, its mouth gaping wide and monstrous.

The substance rained down on them like acid, burning through stone as if it were butter. Elayne yelped, drawing on the mark to throw a cumbersome shield around them. She was half successful, although some of the tar like substance clung to the barrier as drops of water slide down a leaf. She panted through her exhaustion, every molecule of her being tingling with concentration as she saw the thing rear up again preparing another strike. To her right Varric knelt down to the ground taking aim at the mouth; she closed her eyes and shielded her face, sweat dripping into her mouth.

“Fire in the hole!” Varric shouted, explosive shot mounted into Bianca as he pulled the trigger. The arrows shot one after the other, weighted with dynamite into the wide gaping mouth. They glanced off teeth, buried themselves into the grey glistening flesh or dived down into that endless hole. Solas shouted, magic coursing through him as he drew on the frost and cold of winter to bear down around them. Walls of ice shooting up as the shot exploded, shielding them from the blast as the roof collapsed. Elayne felt his arm across her chest as he dragged her to him, drawing her close as the ice enclosed them beneath its thick shelves. It squeezed the breath from her lungs but she did not care, her heart beating frantically as her ears were assaulted by the high pitched screaming. The world seemed to collapse in on them, stone, rubble and plaster poured down on them one after the other in an endless waterfall of sound. Her fingers dug into the sleeve of Solas’s tunic, her thumb prints would be bruises on his arm later but now was not the time to care. The earth shook for what seemed an eternity, and then stood still.

Then there was silence. An oppressive, deadly silence. Elayne opened her eyes, Solas’s arm still encasing her chest drawing a tight circle around her body. Her fingers numb from where she was pressing them so unrelentingly against his taught muscle, she let go. Turning back to glance at him, her face smeared with soot, sweat and blood. She saw her own expression mirrored on his face, his eyebrows knit together, his mouth a severe straight line.

“Are you alright?” She managed to murmur almost breathlessly, he nodded. Absently reaching to push some of her singed hair from her face. A gesture he’d never done before. He seemed to become acutely aware of this halfway through the motion and stepped away, the reassuring press of his body vanishing as he turned his attention towards Varric.

“Are you –” he began but was cut off. “I’m fine Elf, just collecting my thoughts.” Varric muttered in an undertone, straightening himself up off the floor and readjusting the firing mechanism on Bianca.

“Is that fucking thing dead yet?”

Elayne could not tell through the whistling of the snow and the settling of the dust if anything stirred beyond them. She drew herself up, trying to see through the sheets of ice but nothing moved. Gradually the magic holding the ice together leaked into the surroundings, melting magically before them leaving no trace of water behind it. They stood together in a circle pressed up against each other, eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement as the mill gaped at them. The front of the building exploded off, the rest of it caved in and sagging.

“Has it gone?” Elayne’s voice was only a little above a hoarse whisper, dust seemed to coat the inside of her throat making it difficult to speak.

“I cannot see –” Solas began for a second time but was interrupted as rubble span from a pile to the left of them. Huge chunks of wall and rock hurtling towards them. They scattered. A great thing, formless this time reared up from under the rock. Diving towards Varric as he raised Bianca, a long offshoot of flesh shooting out like a spear, knocking the instrument from his hand and sending it spiralling into the air in a long arc.

It leered over him, ready to crash down like a terrible wave, curling like a breaker as it was about to strike.

“NO!” Elayne shouted, magic coiling inside her unregulated and unchecked. A mage at her most dangerous. Magic crackling from her body as electricity as she struck out at it, running forwards, diverting its attention.

It swung at her, she dodged out the way, barely. She heard the hiss and sizzle of the limb as it sliced through the air close to her left ear. She knew instinctively that she mustn’t touch it. That to touch it would cost her something dear. She backed away from it but her calves collided with the remnants of the stone wall and her retreat was cut off, it would lunge now and it would get her. She was trapped. She raised her arms to cover her face, digging for magic to save her; she felt the first trickles of desperation penetrate her psyche and knew in an instant what drove mages to turn to blood magic.

Explosions suddenly flew overhead. A noise like the rumble of a volcano slowly advancing. Electricity and fire showered down in front of her, causing Varric and Solas to scramble away. The thing screamed its body moving to the new perceived threat. She heard someone yelling her name and dared to glance back behind her. Bull! Iron Bull and the Chargers forging down the hill towards them. Metal shots echoed off the stone, penetrating the dark grey rippling flesh. The thing made the angry piston hiss again. Its flesh wobbling and gyrating, forming angry needles that protruded out of its skin like the jagged edges of knives.

Never in her life had relief swept so dizzyingly over her, flooding her senses and making her feel almost giddy. It backed off, its huge body slithering through the debris and into the grass, its wide mouth open and panting. She felt Solas pull at her shoulder, almost bodily picking her up, but she was unable to tear her eyes away from the monster as it seemed to reform itself, collecting its matter in an oval and coalescing. Bones seemed to grow from a great soft abdomen of flesh, grey leathery skin stretching over them as it grew arms and a lithe body. But its head was still the same. A gaping maw of teeth. She looked transfixed as if caught under a spell, unable to look away as an eye emerged from the darkness of its body and stared back at her, rolling in white. It was unlike anything that she had ever experienced before, as if the world had turned to black and white before her as an intense heat glanced through her left eye; everything paused and then seemed to splinter. The magic caused her body to fill with dread, rooting her limbs to the floor, piercing her soul. And with that, it leapt with an unearthly scream into the air as fire and lightening rained down on it, flying away into the darkness.

“Boss?!” Iron Bull’s deep roar seemed to slice through the darkness like a hot knife through butter. Solas’s hands where still clasped on her body, pulling her back, she neither moved nor resisted, overcome with shock.

“Chargers!” Krem shouted, “Set up a perimeter, make sure that thing doesn’t come back.”

In the distance Elayne could hear the noises intensifying, more bodies pouring down the hill. The sounds of hooves on dirt and the biting of horses against metal bits.

“It’s okay you can relax now.” Solas was telling her, she almost pushed at his hands as he tried to move her, her legs stiff like lead. Her skin was cold and clammy, her heart beating erratically in her chest. He held her fingers and looked at her face, concern written across his dark grey eyes.

“What was it, what was it?” She muttered frantically, her limbs shaking, her body peripherally shut down as her veins and capillaries redirected blood towards her internal organs. Her mouth was dry as the sweat ran from her forehead, across her eyebrows and into her eyes.

“ _Elayne_.” He said commandingly in his lilting tone, taking her face in his hands and forcing her to look at him. “It has gone now.”

The sound of her name broke the Hex, like a deep sea diver breaking to the surface she gasped at air. Reaching up to where his hands had captured her face and lacing her fingers through his. Heat and colour rushed over her, blood roared in her ears and she was overcome with nausea. The world spinning frantically around her.

“Is she okay?” She could hear Varric shouting, as the rumbling of horses came closer and closer encircling them. Solas did not let go of her, he seemed to be keeping her upright, stopping the sliding scale of panic that was threatening to engulf her fully as if she teetered on a knife edge over an endless precipice.

 _“Ra emen haim.”_ He said to her in barely above a whisper, his low tones calm, trying to steer her past the storm.

“I’m alright, I’m alright.” She muttered back, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders. Behind them a man dismounted hurriedly from a sable mare, not caring who he barged out of the way to get to her.

Dorian pulled Solas bodily away from Elayne, ignoring the death glare the elf sent him as he dug his elbows into Solas’s side. Physically helping to prop his friend up as she scowled, knees feeling weak and wobbly beneath her.

She threw her arm around Dorian’s shoulders, concentrating on just standing.  Eyes closed as she heard her friend angrily murmured at her, “For Maker’s sake Tallulah, what the hell is going on?”

She pushed against Dorian’s chest, staggering off into the grass, needing to retch. Bile curdling up inside her stomach. She drew the back of her hand across her forehead, trying to wipe away some of the sweat and blood that had encrusted itself onto her skin. 

“Get the Herald inside.” She could hear Cassandra shouting, “I want everyone accounted for in the next ten minutes. Scour the grounds and check every room in the inn, if someone so much as sneezes I want to know about it.”

“Seeker,” Varric’s voice sounded odd. “The patrol, they were in there. The cupboards…” His voice trailed off.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at him. “Eviscerated.” Solas finished for him, calmly. “I see.” Cassandra replied in her clipped curt tones that betrayed no emotion. “We have been careless.”

They began to move back towards the house, Elayne found herself beginning to shiver as she swung her legs up and over Dorian’s horse, winding her arms around his waist as she sat behind him. He took off his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders to reveal the striped pyjamas he wore beneath it. Her own dress was ripped and her cloak burnt in the fire, useless now in protecting her from the elements. His feet were bare she noticed as he nudged the horse into a brisk trot; having run from his room shoeless in his haste to get to her.

“What on earth were you doing?” He asked in low tones, keeping close to the line of soldiers in front of them.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Elayne said quietly, almost choking on the rawness of her throat. “I went for a walk.”

“By yourself in the middle of the night?”

“Yes and no, I’m not a child.” She frowned trying to think over whether her actions had been stupid. They hadn’t seemed reckless at the time, but perhaps she had been mistaken. “I was with Varric and Solas.”

She could feel, more than see Dorian roll his eyes at this. “Look I didn’t know it was there alright? I don’t even know _what_ it was.”

“I’ve instructed some of Leliana’s scouts to take soil samples around the building, whatever it was scorched the earth. I’ve not see a lot of things that do that, and I don’t think you were going head to head somehow with a fire demon.”

“I don’t think it was a demon.” Elayne muttered into Dorian’s shoulder blades, “It was some sort of…of…” Her voice trailed off but he waited for her to finish speaking. “Monster.” She finished, feeling stupid.

He coughed. “Dagna might be able to make something of it.” She added, quickly dousing the rising colour that was flooding her cheeks. “Something sensible.” She added.

“Stop it, you’re doubting yourself.” Dorian replied lowly, “Don’t doubt yourself, look at you. You’re covered in crap, dirt, half bloody naked and you’re still fucking magnificent.” His voice was hot. “I got you into this mess, you shouldn’t be the one paying for it, I should be.”

“How is this your fault?” She hissed pressing her forehead against his protruding vertebra as he leaned forward on the horse.

“Tallulah, you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”

“ _You_ wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me!”

They reached the inn and he jumped down from the horse helping her down. “I’m going to take her upstairs.” He told Casandra firmly, “Clean her up, mend her wounds. We’ll debrief in an hour.”

“If my expertise is needed,” Solas began but Dorian shot the elf a withering look that would have caused cream to sour.

“I think we’ll be able to manage _quite_ well without you, thanks.” Solas’s eyebrows rose up his forehead, his eyes inscrutable.

Elayne felt tired and drained, walking barefoot into the hallway. “I’ll call if I need you Solas, thank you for…” she stopped the words dying on her lips. She was staring up the stairs to the hallway, her eyes wide and expression perplexed. Dorian and Solas following the line of her gaze, the Tevinter Mage’s expression darkening instantly.

“Sybil,” he hissed menacingly. “This is neither the place, nor the time.”

Lady Vane ignored him, paying him no more attention than a fly on the wall. Her face was peculiarly white Elayne thought as she slowly descended the steps towards the Inquisitor, her hair pinned neatly back from her face. Her clever red lips pressed into a thin grim line as she placed her hands on either side of Elayne’s dirt covered face; behind her the form of Josephine could be made out, clad in a dressing gown and slippers holding a candle aloft.

“So,” she said quietly. “It has arrived has it?”

From the bottom of the stairs Dorian spluttered, Solas took a few steps towards her whilst the icy tones of Cassandra could be heard exclaiming “What?!” from beside one of the coat racks.

Elayne blinked her dark lashes and stared back unflinchingly into Sybil’s gooseberry green irises.

She kept the anger from her voice ignoring how her hands shook by her sides, the indignation rising in her chest. Indeed, she kept her tone frustratingly even as she said: “Tell me what you know, Lady Vane.”

 

 

 


	6. Chapter Four - An unwanted passenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh well, it took over 20,000 words to get to some Inquisitor/Solas subtext - but sometimes I think slow burns are the best type of burns to wait for. Enjoy!

                                    **Chapter 4: An unwanted passenger**

 

 

 

> What are you waiting for? Just surrender here tonight. What are you waiting for? As we go towards the light
> 
>  

“Tell us what you know.” Elayne Trevelyan said through her teeth, she fought hard to keep her voice calm, staring hard with gold and hazel eyes that seemed infused with fire.

 Lady Vane looked back at her unflinching, somewhere below them Dorian was making a noise like a kettle boiling over as Cassandra moved towards them; eyes flashing with fury.

 “Am I to believe that either you have consciously brought something to us and with you, or that, whatever it was that attacked the Inquisitor has been following you around? That you did not tell us?” Cassandra looked as Elayne felt, bloody furious.

 “I did not tell you,” Sibyl began looking as cool as a cucumber, “because I do not know what it is. I had no guarantee of Dorian’s help. I did not know if it would come. I was not about to make my position,” she paused before continuing. “Or even Tevinter’s position look any weaker by telling you that we had in the past few months been attacked by an unknown being.”

 “So what, if anything were you going to tell us?” Dorian all but yelled from where he was standing. “You expect our help –”

 “It is not _their_ help I expect Dorian, it is **yours**.” Lady Vane snapped back at him, losing her cool suddenly like ice cracking across a frozen lake. “Typically you cannot to commit to anything without first having the appraisal of half a dozen other people to validate your own actions. It is as pathetic now as it was five years ago.”

 Dorian’s eyes narrowed to slits, he seemed seconds away from breathing fire. “You have endangered my frie – fiancé.”

 “I have done nothing of the sort.” She retorted calm and collected again. “I had no guarantee that thing would come, I have not been attacked by it myself. Why warn you of something that may never occur?”

 “Three of our men have lost their lives tonight.” Cassandra exclaimed, a tone of disbelief in her voice. “And you are telling me that nothing could have been done to prevent that? We have agreed to help you stop Corypheus but I cannot justify walking our men into unknown danger when it is not necessary.”

 “I apologise for the death of your men,” Sybil’s eyes turned again to look at the Inquisitor. Her skin pale, her mouth a fine red line. “But you must believe me, I did not know if it would come for me if I had thought to share that information with you.”

 “What nonsense is this?” Dorian retorted, disbelief glancing through his voice like sunlight falling through the leaves on a tree. “Sibyl Vane, afraid? I thought I’d never see the day. Is it the Rapture? Are we to be delivered now to the hands of the Maker?”

 She ignored him, speaking now to Elayne. “We have had reports in Tevinter of strange goings on in the noble houses. Mages in the Magistrate going missing, some of our Senate have been found the next morning after formal gatherings dead in their beds. All powerful Mages, all who opposed the siblings that talk of restoring Tevinter back to her former glory.”

 “You do not mention a creature, like the thing we saw tonight.”

 “Truly, I do not know what it looks like.” Sibyl admitted, she wrung her hands in front of her dark dress. She was beautiful, Elayne thought a little enviously staring at the defined angles of her face, the intensity of her eyes and the blood red of her mouth.

 “Magister Pavus has tried to send messengers before to Dorian, explaining the problem to his son. But each one has vanished from the face of Thedas without so much as a whisper in the night.” She glared angrily at Dorian. “When your mother approached me for help I was afraid, there are whispers in the Senate that someone knows and sees all we do. No one speaks of Corephyeus’s will but if it is not carried out it seems those who oppose it die. I did not take my trip here to fetch you lightly, I came with only my personal guard. What good would that have done me if the creature had come for me in the middle of the night? I can protect myself but so could the Magisters who have been slain. I do not know what it is Inquisitor, I had hoped that my travel here, unobtrusive and under the guise of a family spat would attract little attention. It is not uncommon for brides to fetch back their wayward husbands from foreign lands, why should this be anything different?”

 “But you are no longer betrothed.” Solas said in solemn tones, “You did not need to put yourself in danger.”

 She turned her furious eyes upon the elf, almost looking down her nose at him. “Is there nothing you would sacrifice all for? Your own personal safety? Your own life for the good of something else? I love my country, and I love my people. When duty calls upon me I answer that call.” Her glittering savage eyes fell upon Dorian who matched them with his own. “I will not run away because it suits me better. I will protect my homeland, my people even if it means giving my life.”

 “Let’s not be so dramatic.” Dorian replied scathingly looking at his fingernails, “You wouldn’t be doing this if there wasn’t something in it for you.”

 Lady Vane’s arm moved backwards and Elayne was sure she recognised the motion. They were fortunately two mages sandwiched between two mages, the movement to summon a fireball was quickly squashed as the Inquisitor leant forward to grab her hand. Solas, his reflexes lightening quick somehow managed to smack (and she wasn’t sure it was entirely accidental either) Dorian in the face with his elbow and stop his fingers from forming the lightening currents that a flick of his wrist would have sent dazzling into the air.

 “For Maker’s sake you two!” Cassandra yelled, losing some of the iron of her normally watertight composure. “Stop behaving like children.”

 Sybil wrenched her hand out of Elayne’s grip, giving Dorian one of the filthiest looks she had ever seen in her life. She was forcibly reminded of the time she’d caught Cassandra taking a swing at Varric in the rafters of the armoury, the dwarf running bodily behind the Inquisitor as he had dodged around a pillar to escape Cassandra’s rampage; at her discovery that the dwarf had known the location of Hawke all along.

 “I will be upstairs in my chambers.” Sybil ground out between white pearly teeth. Elayne marvelled at the idea of her and Dorian ever being betrothed. Perhaps all arranged marriages in Tevinter were like this, she could only imagine the scenario if the two of them had actually gone through with the marriage. What their wedding night would have been like she _shuddered_ to think.

 “If you have any more questions _Inquisitor_ ,” her tone seemed to emphasis Elayne was welcome. Elayne alone. By herself. Alone. Without Dorian. Never Dorian. Dorian should go hang himself. “I would be glad to answer them for you to the best of my knowledge.”

 With that she turned both elegantly and dramatically up the stairs, marching past Josephine without sparing her a glance. She disappeared down the corridor and presently they heard the thunderous crash of a door being slammed shut.

 “I’ll have her room guarded by our men as well.” Cassandra muttered, more to herself and to the Inquisitor than to anyone else in the room. “I have told our scouts they are not to move in anything less than groups of four at all times, until we know what we are dealing with I cannot give them safer instructions.”

 “Well that went splendidly don’t you think?” Dorian hissed between his teeth, straightening up and giving Solas the full extent of one of his withering stares.

 “You would do well to control yourself.” Solas retorted back, his own grey eyes dark. “There was no need to unnecessarily aggravate her.”

 “If you are giving me instructions on how to be nice to other people Solas, I shall laugh.”

 “That is **enough**.” Cassandra said forcefully glaring at the two of them, as if daring either one of them to start an argument. She’d be dragging the next person who said something sarcastic out by their hair or ears into the next room.

 “I concur with Cassandra,” Josephine added, speaking for the first time. “We need to formulate a plan. I will speak to Lady Vane and try to decipher some of this mess, we will need to think hard about our arrival in Tevinter, how not to attract too much attention if people are being actively hunted. We still need invitations into high society if we are to get to the route of the problem, we will need to call on your contacts Dorian.”

 “That won’t be a problem.” The Tevinter Mage answered smoothly, “Everyone loves a good party, and what better to celebrate than the engagement of one of the oldest families in Tevinter to one of the most celebrated Mage’s in all of southern Thedas?”

 It took a moment for Elayne to work out that he was talking about her and she flushed a deep scarlet. The evening seemed to rush over her and she felt a tower of exhaustion grow up inside her, she sat down on the step overcome for a second. In an instant five people surged around her, helping her to her feet, holding her arms, guiding her up the stairs.

 “I’m alright!” She muttered fiercely, her friends apparently impervious to her protests as it was ordered that a bath be drawn for the Inquisitor, immediately! Her clothes were replaced; bandages were laid out on her bed. Given a moment of self-realisation (and finally alone) she stood in the bathroom and undressed, to her surprise as she reached to undo what little remained of her dress the hem came away from her body crusted and sticky. Her left thigh was soaked with with blood. Her skin had caught when the dress had ripped as she had jumped through the ceiling and down into Solas’s arms. She paused, looking at the edges of the wound and feeling the ripped boundaries with her fingers lightly, frowning. It needed a clean and healing magic. She wondered vaguely if she should do it herself but the cut ran from the middle of her thigh and across the gluteal muscle of her left buttock, ending at her hip bone.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror, wondering at the indecency of it.

 At Skyhold many of the Chantry priests were trained in healing, the subset of magic that was not frowned upon by the Maker.

 She should not risk infection though; Dorian would no doubt offer to do it but his expertise was in Necromancy not really the type of magic or effect that she was keen to pursue at this exact moment in time.

 Elayne stole out of her bedroom, she could hear Dorian across the corridor from her, cloistered in a room with Cassandra and Josephine talking details about Tevinter politics and how best to announce their arrival without creating suspicion. She heard the words ‘banquet’ and ‘grand ball’ and rolled her eyes, dreading the sentences that must surely follow on from this. A repeat of Halamshiral? Possibly one of the tensest nights she could ever remember, and exhaustingly long.

 She paused for a moment outside Solas’s room, looking up and down the corridor before knocking. A thirty second pause and she wondered if she was in the right place before the door swung inwards. He looked at her, surprised. Still dressed in his travelling clothes. Did he ever change? She wondered to herself.

 “Inquisitor?”

 “Sorry Solas, I need some help.”

 “Don’t apologise,” he opened the door wide, allowing her entry. She stepped inside and saw a familiar pile of books and parchment was stacked on the side table next to the bed.  

 “What is it I can assist you with?”

 For one ludicrous moment Elayne imagined opening the front of her dressing gown to reveal her under-shift without any explanation. She silently laughed at the idea inside her head.

 “I’ve managed to hurt myself during this evening’s escapades.” She said in a quiet and even tone. Why did she sound so serious? Why did she feel so anxious? Perhaps she ought to have asked Dorian to take a look at it after all.

 “I thought you might have done.” The elf replied, shoeless he leant back against a cabinet in the small room. “What can I do for you?”

 “I don’t know if it just requires a healing salve or if it requires magic.”

 “Is it dirty or clean?”

 A smile played on her lips. “Dirty, of course.” Maker, she was being bold. Was she flirting or playing silly with him? She didn’t know. It was the sort of thing she would have said to Dorian or Varric, or even Sera. She didn’t play those games with Solas, they didn’t have that sort of relationship, so why she was doing it now escaped her. In the back of her mind she recalled a strong arm encircling her, pulling her towards him. An island of safety amidst a sea of chaos. It made her feel peculiarly bold.

 “I needn't of asked.” He smiled back at her and Elayne felt a little heat rise into her cheeks. “Where?”

 She pointed to her thigh and then slowly made a motion with her hand moving up her to her hip and then travelling to just above her coccyx.

 “I see.” His voice was a little careful she thought as he turned around to light another candle, brightening the room more with its orange glow of illumination.

 “If you would like to lie down on the bed?”

 “Should I strip?” _Don’t for the love of the Maker, don’t flush_.

 “I think that might be wise Inquisitor.” She was glad that he didn’t call her by her name, her mind running in circles as she removed her dressing gown and hitched up her shift. Her underwear was conservative and comfortable as she tried not to feel too self conscious. She did not feel particularly feminine at the moment, since her time as Inquisitor she had dropped weight and put on muscle, it had reduced the femininity of her curves. Her stomach flat and muscled, her chest was almost as horizontal as it had been when she had been a teenager. But her legs were strong and long still, tapering out from her small waist forming the solid muscles that supported her back and lower body.       

 She lay down and pretended she didn’t feel self conscious. Solas worked methodically, his hands were cool as he laid them upon her skin, bringing the light close to her so he could examine the damage thoroughly. For a while he said nothing, looking and touching her, examining the extent of the damage she had done to herself.

“Ow!” She exclaimed as he touched her with a wet cloth that had been soaked in something that smelt herbal. “Explain what you’re doing.”

 “I’m sorry I forgot myself,” he murmured. The situation felt strange, almost uncomfortably intimate. “I am just cleaning the wound. You’re lucky it didn’t go deeper otherwise magic alone could not have healed this, we would have had to use a needle and threat. This may hurt a bit though as I close the side of the wound.” He looked about his small room. “I have nothing with me now that will dim the pain, I could go and collect some items to make this easier for you, but I fear you would have to wait until tomorrow.”

 “I’d rather get this over and done with now.” Elayne ground between gritted teeth, “I don’t want to risk bleeding everywhere tomorrow, or worse getting blood poisoning.”

 “As sensible an answer as always. I shall try to distract you as much as I can.”

 She instinctively put a hand on his shoulder, he was knelt down on the floor next to the bed two candles on the table next to him casting dancing light over the two of them. “Thank you Solas.”

 He looked at her strangely for a moment before continuing, a small orb of light formed between his fingers that he pushed onto her skin. She twisted and gasped, Maker it hurt like hell.

 “You have three brothers.” He said conversationally as he continued his work looking up and into her face.

 “Yes.” She said between gritted teeth, beads of sweat pricking from her forehead.

 “What are they like?”

 “Bombastic.”

 He actually laughed and for a minute Elayne forgot the pain.

 “Roderick is the eldest, he is almost ten years older than I am. He is stern when he needs to be, but a gentle as a kitten. I used to sneak into his bed when I was a child. I was afraid of thunderstorms after climbing a tree once that was struck by lightening. He was never afraid of anything. I remember once he rescued me when I had climbed too high up the ramparts. Mother was beside herself, if I’d had fallen I would have probably have broken my neck. He wasn’t home as often as I would have liked when I was a teenager, I didn't really understand why he had to attend so many councils, offer tribute and alliance to Denerim. You know, things like that. My father is quite old but he trusts Roderick, he always had a way of making you feel safe even when the storm was at its worst.”

 “And of your other brothers?”

 “Asher is the most handsome.” Elayne said with a smile. “The most handsome, the wildest, the maddest and the most impetuous.”

 “That doesn’t sound like you at all.” Solas said, was that a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth again as he worked?

 “I think he would have liked to have been a Mage.” Elayne said considering, “But perhaps it was a good thing that Magic skipped him over, he’s never been very good at following rules.”

 “You think he would have become an Apostate?”

 “I think he would have gotten himself into trouble. That is to say _more_ trouble than he already got himself into.” An image of her brother leaping out at her from behind drawn curtains flashed across her mind, followed by the tell tale smell of burning cloth as she had set his sleeve on fire.

 “What did your parents make of that?”

 “What was there to make of it? If anything my father insisted that he took after the wildness of my mother in her youth. Asher is strong and clever in ways that Roderick is not. Roderick is calm and collected, you can trust him to behave in sensible ways. But Asher does not play by the rules, I would hate to come across him in battle. I should imagine is not just fierce but quite ruthless.” She smiled, “Not that that ever stopped women for forever falling hopelessly in love with him.”

 “Did that happen often?”

 “More often than my parents would have liked.”

 “Is he married now?”

 Elayne frowned, “That is a complicated story; but no. He is not.”

 “Are any of your brothers married?”

 “Roderick is engaged to his childhood sweetheart, I keep waiting to hear they have married without me, but Roderick keeps putting it off. It’s not really fair on his bride-to-be, but he insists it would not be the same without me there. Once I’m done. Inquisiting that is.”

 “And of the youngest.”

 Elayne paused for a long moment. “Willem is the youngest, when we were growing up he was never much interested in the idea of settling down. He was rather taken with the intention of setting out on an adventure for fame and fortune.”

 “The youngest often are, overshadowed by their older siblings.”

“We were to go together,” Elayne said slowly. “But then I ruined it by unfortunately happening to also possess magical powers. When I had to leave to be trained in the Circle he was furious with me. I remember my parents visiting me after the first few weeks of settling in, he would barely talk to me. I cried so much, I remember mother walloped him.”

 “She ‘walloped’ him?”

 “A hazard of our youth, I was forever being walloped for being cheeky.”

 “I cannot imagine.” His eyes twinkled a little mischievously at her, she thought.

 Elayne laughed, “What about you? Do you have any family?”

 Solas’s face seemed to become expressionless again. “You’re done.” He said quietly, straightening himself and reaching out his hand to help her up, passing her back her shift and dressing gown. “Well done, you barely flinched.”

 “Thank you for distracting me.” Elayne murmured back, a little embarrassed. Feeling she had said the wrong thing.

 Her thigh felt unpleasantly hot and achy; but the skin was smooth and untarnished as she looked down and brushed her fingers against it.

 She raised her arms in the air and Solas turned around, cleaning up the assortment of salves and bandages that he had been using. The shift fell over her head and was barely over her body as the door opened and Cole stood ponderously beneath the frame.

 “Oh!” Inquisitor Trevelyan exclaimed, quickly doing up the front of her dressing gown feeling peculiarly exposed in front of Cole.

 “What is it Cole?” Solas asked, his voice a little harsh as if he felt his sanctuary was being invaded.   

 “Downstairs, they need you. All of a kerfuffle. Dorian’s mad. Thinks you should have protected her better. Josephine wonders if our plans have been leaked. Cassandra won’t entertain the idea that some of her men might have betrayed us. Varric sits in the corner peacekeeping, thinking about another drink.”

 “Right.” Elayne said tiredly edging around Solas as she slipped her arms through her sleeves and twisted her hair up into a tight knot behind her head. “Lead the way Cole.”

 

* * *

 

“I want a word with you.”

 He had been waiting for this. Six days since the incident, six days of relentless travel across The Silent Plains. Six days Dorian had been holding his tongue about whatever it was that was bothering him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out something was eating at the Tevinter Mage. Every time he looked at Solas thunderclouds seemed to storm into view despite the evidence of a clear blue sky across the plains at all times.

 The Inquisitor was exhausted; the moment they had stopped at the travellers Inn she had taken herself to bed only eating the merest crumbs of a meal before her head had hit the pillow.

 Solas put down the book he was reading, since the incident he had been scouring ancient texts for references to the thing they had seen in the Mill. Dorian had been doing the same, but such a bad temper as he was in with the Elf meant that no conferring had gone on between sides. Just silent arguments and tugs of war over archives that Lilianna had supplied to them from couriers.

 “Would you prefer to talk here or?”

 “Outside,” Dorian said as if Solas had not spoken, “between the Rosemary bushes there is a sort of private walk. Perhaps you would care to join me on a stroll?”

 It wasn’t really a question Solas thought, more a caged demand. He inclined his head and accompanied the Tevinter Mage into the gardens, neither of them speaking to each other as they walked side by side. They passed Varric on their way out, the dwarf seemed deeply absorbed in the rolls and rolls of parchment that were laid splayed out on the desk in front of him and barely glanced their way as they passed.

 The air was fresh and a little bitter in the twilight as they moved unspeaking between the herb hedges. Finally they came to a secluded semi circle, on either side poplar trees leaned over them, their light bark flashing sliver in the moonlight.

 “What did you want to talk about?” Solas asked, breaking the silence between them. Dorian eyed him from across the gravelled path, his dark eyes glittering.

 “She could have died.” He said finally, crossing his arms and looking unblinkingly at the elf before him. “You were supposed to protect her and she could have died.”

 Solas didn’t answer for a moment, he simply watched Dorian carefully.

 “She told me today,” The Mage expunged, talking quickly as if he needed to get a great weight off his chest. “That she became trapped in a room with that _thing_. Where the hell were you and Varric?”

 “Master Tethras found something in one of the Mill cupboards, he asked me to help him open the door; I assisted. If I had known that the Herald had headed that far down the opposite side of the corridor I would have called her back.”

 “But you didn’t,” Dorian said lowly, his voice almost a hiss. Anger was cascading dangerously off him like bursts of whistling steam. “She could have died.”

“I am not the Inquisitor’s minder.” Solas bit back feeling himself lose that cool edge that so infuriated Dorian.

 “No but you are her friend, and you are here to see this task through. How are we to accomplish that if she’s dead?”

 “Is this about my incompetency Master Pavus? Or is this about yours?” Solas snapped, he could feel the wolf inside him rearing up its head, eyes glinting, mouth pulled back in a snarl.  

Dorian’s eyes flashed, he opened his mouth to answer back but Solas pushed on, allowing the wolf to take hold of him. “Do not blame me for the guilt you feel. It was not me who lay in bed as that thing bore down on her, it was not me who lay there gently snoring as it brought down the Mill on top of us. She is an adult, she can make her own decisions about what she does with her free time. She trusts me Dorian and that should be enough for you.”

 “Do not lecture me about my relationship with Inquisitor Trevelyan.” Dorian all but growled. “Who are you to lecture _anyone_ about _anything_ unless it is about being an insufferable know-it-all? Do not pretend you know her better than I, do not pretend you care about her more than I. She is just a means to an end for you and I will not allow her to come to any harm where it could have been preventable.”

 “She is my friend too.” Solas retorted back. “I care what happens to her.”

 “You?” Dorian’s words were uncharacteristically icy. The warmth had gone from his handsome face, swallowed up by something bitter. “What do you know of friends? What do you know of friendship? You prefer to mingle with beings that do not rightly exist on this plain of reality, perhaps because they do not answer you back. What could you understand of her? You are nothing alike. You know nothing of her. She is not an elf to be lectured or instructed by you. She is a living, breathing human woman. And she trusts you. You very nearly failed her. Justify that to yourself all you want, but I know I feel ashamed of the fact that I very nearly let her down. She would never let me down – she _has_ never let me down. You make assumptions about me because I am from Tevinter. Because I am a Mage. Because I had the unfortunate circumstance of being born the biggest disappointment that my parents could have ever conceived. Do _not_ taint her with the same brush and determine that you know everything that there is to know about her just because you have wondered the Fade a few times and have had a few conversations with humans and have concluded in your ultimate wisdom that they all must be the same. She deserves your respect for who she _is_ not because of what she represents.”

 He frowned at Solas, his eyes dark and intense. The elf said nothing further, he seemed for a moment lost in thought.

 “I’m going inside.” Dorian said curtly. “It’s cold out here.” And with a sweep of his magnificent cape he left Solas alone beneath the poplar trees.

 

* * *

 

The grand hall was lit with candles, the statues and drapery lit with a magical golden glow that dazzled against the clean white marble of the stone floor. The servants were frantically scuttling back and forth from the kitchen as the first guests began to arrive. Lady Trevelyan stood imperiously in the hall by the door ready to receive the first guests, one hand held a gold inlaid peacock fan that she held flirtatiously before her face as she curtsied and took the hands of her guests. Next to her, her husband Lord Trevelyan rolled his eyes amused as his wife shot him coquettish glances every once in a while from over the top of the feathers.

 From the banisters on the second floor that overlooked the grand hall Elayne could make out the blond ruffled hair of her brother Asher, who for some reason was wearing an Orlesian masquerade mask. He kept looking up at herself and Willem, winking naughtily as he courteously greeted their guests.

 “Should we join them?” Willem asked, leaning over to whisper into his sister’s ear.

 “Not yet.” Elayne muttered back, “We need to see who we have to avoid first.”

 “Good point.” Willem concurred, sitting back down on his haunches. He looked very handsome tonight Elayne thought proudly to herself as she stole a sideways look at him. They were both dressed in a deep velvety green with a gold trim, it brought out his dark complexion most becomingly and turned his eyes from a stormy grey to a dazzling cerulean flecked blue.

 “Avoiding dancing are we?” A familiar voice over their heads quipped. They both jumped, unaware that anyone had been standing behind them. Roderick stood leaning on an ornately carved stick looking down at the two of them, his expression amused.

 “Never.” Elayne answered impishly as Willem scratched behind his head trying not to look guilty.

 “I see.” Roderick raised an all knowing eyebrow. “Because I would hate for our dear sister to have to dance with Bann Chadwick again.”

 “Oh rats,” Willem exclaimed peering out from between the banisters, “He’s not here again is he? The creep.”

 “I’m afraid so.” Roderick replied, nodding sagely. “Here anyway, for courage.” He threw a wine skin towards the two of them before moving towards the stairs to descend to the ground level.

 “Don’t be too long you two, mother will only be distracted for a short amount of time before she remembers to come looking for her youngest trouble makers.”

 “What ever happened to you Roddy?” Elayne pipped up, the dark red liquid of the wine slipping easily down her throat, staining her lips with a little bloody crimson.  

 “I’m afraid I’ve started to grow old and frightfully dull.” Her brother retorted as his fine nose began to vanish from their eye level. “Try to avoid it at all costs, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

 “I reckon,” Willem said slowly, leaning over Elayne to reach for the wineskin and taking a swig of it himself. “That good old Ash must have a stash of those Orlesian masks tucked under his bed somewhere.”

 “I’m sure mother must be furious with him.”

 “Well she doesn’t seem to have noticed yet.”

 “Give her time.”

 Willem shot Elayne a look, his eyes sparkling. “I don’t know know how Asher manages it, engaged to one of the noble families of Ferelden only to have an affair with a member of the Orlesian royalty who is already intended for another man.”

 “He’s just lucky Roderick is willing to be shipped off to Ferelden instead of him.”

 “Maker, I’ve never seen mother turn a shade of puce so quickly.”  

 “He’s lucky it didn’t spark off another war, never mind Mother turning puce. Although that was a sight to behold.”

 They finished the wineskin together, Dutch courage making them bold. Willem held out his arm to her. “Shall we go my Lady Pigeon?”

 Elayne smiled at him, digging her fingers into his forearm and leaning across in a stage whisper. “Do **not** leave me with Bann Chadwick.”

 “Surely you can just turn him into a pumpkin again if he annoys you, Pig.” She snorted, tossing her hair imperiously and looking down her handsome nose at him by a means of response. ‘Don’t tempt me’ her demeanour seemed to say.

 As they walked together into the grand hall Elayne could hear her mother speaking by the entrance. “Oh please do not mind the doves, the Mages have conjured them for them for the children, isn’t it marvellous. Yes, my daughter has been given special dispensation from the Ostiwick circle to be here tonight.”

 “I’d be careful if I were you.” Asher muttered as he passed them by, a giggling woman on each arm. His mouth a wicked twisting smile beneath the gold of his mask, “Sounds to me like dear old Ma is trying to sell you off little sister.”

 Elayne stuck her tongue out him.

 “What a shameless flirt.” Willem remarked sounding a little awed as he watched Asher lead the women over to a bowl of what they both knew to be extremely alcoholic punch. “I don’t know how he manages to survive these affairs without being punched. One of those ladies is Madame Carter, her fiancé is built like a brick shit-house.”

 “Oh I’d just leave him to it.” Elayne said grinning, bobbing her head up and down in time to the music which was being played by the Orchestra her parents had hired. “I’m sure it would lead to an interesting half time spectacle. Besides,” she added unfurling the fan she had been given for her eighteenth birthday and looking at Willem mischievously over the top of it, “It would be worth it, just to see mother cart Asher off by the ears in front of five hundred people.”

 “I suppose it does serve him right for being a horrible human being.”

 “You two.” Their father Lord Trevelyan summoning them across the room with one beckoning finger to stand by him. “Where have you been for the past half hour? I hope you have been introducing yourselves to our guests.”

 They both blinked beguilingly at him, a look which fooled no one. Their father a handsome man now in his early sixties looked at his two youngest children with amusement, they both had his nose.  “I suggest you take your sister for the next dance Willem,” he said with mock sternness his hazel eyes twinkling. “The staff will be out with more wine in a minute. I don’t know how much practice you have in the Circle my pet, but it would make your mother despair to think you had forgotten everything she had taught you.”

 “Oh absolutely no practice at all father.” Elayne replied beaming.

 “Oh dear,” their father replied in a tone which did not match his words. “Well I shall have to inform Bann Chadwick you are not fit to be danced with.”

 “Please!” Elayne exclaimed urgently over her shoulder as her brother dragged her off in the direction of the dance floor. From the corner of her eye she could see Asher in deep conversation with a man she recognised, he had somehow managed to produce a pile of Orlesian masks from somewhere and seemed to be handing them out to guests.

 “Dear Maker, spare us.” Willem muttered. “When mother notices that, it’s going to get interesting.”

 “She wouldn’t dare shout at him in front of an entire ballroom of people.” Elayne answered tilting her head up to look at the crystal chandelier that hung overhead. It cast fiery splinters of crystal light across the deep brown of the wood beneath their feet.

 “Want to bet money on that?”

 The musicians started again and for a while they were entirely silent, Elayne focusing on her feet. Her footwork a little rusty as she tried to remember all the steps to the dance, they managed it, just. She had a habit of trying to lead she realised as Willem had gently cursed several times throughout the dance. She had missed this she realised as her brother led her away from the dance floor, leaving her to get a drink as he wandered away to greet one of his friends.

 “Enjoying yourself little bird?” Asher had strolled over to her, curiously absent of female companions for the time being. Elayne fluttered her fan in front of her face in an effort to cool herself down. “I am, are you?”

 Asher shrugged, managing somehow to look roguishly handsome beneath the hooked nose of the Orlesian mask. He wore a suit of deep red trimmed with black, semi-precious stones adorning the belt he wore slung low across his hips. “I always feel mother’s events could do with a little more debauchery.”

 “I should like to see you try.”

 Behind the mask she was sure Asher had raised his eyebrows. “Needless to say little bird, how are you?”

 “I’m good Ash.”

 “You look very beautiful tonight.”

 “Don’t be _creepy_.”

 He laughed and bent down to kiss her cheek. “I’ve missed you since you’ve been away adulting about the place like a proper Mage. Mother’s awfully proud of you, you know.”

 “I can’t think why.” She answered taking a swig from her goblet.

 “No?” he answered grinning and placing her free arm through his. “Come there’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

 He guided her smoothly away as Bann Chadwick bore down on them, his pink flesh wobbling as he requested Elayne’s hand for the next dance. Asher’s decline was fresh and easy, as he bowed low. A beguiling smile playing across his lips as he led her sister away from the Bann’s clutches. “Perhaps another time Chad?” Asher replied pleasantly ignoring the man’s protests.

 He led her across the room to where another man was standing leaning up against a pillar, the man Elayne had seen earlier. The one who was curiously familiar.

 “Arl Alden, you remember my sister Elayne.” The man straightened up, bowing low. She curtsied back, eyes wide looking into her brother’s face to see if there were any sign of mirth there. Surprisingly he seemed completely serious.

 “Lady Trevelyan.” Arl Alden had an attractively deep voice she thought as he leant over her hand and brought it to his lips. “A pleasure to meet you again, your brother speaks most highly of you.”

 “Oh my, are you sure he was talking about me?”

 Asher laughed, “You see what I have to put up with? I promised her that you’d take her for this dance, there’s an awfully insistent Bann lurking around that Elayne is acutely allergic to. I’d stave him off myself but there’s an urgent matter that needs my immediate attention.”

 He placed Elayne’s hand in Alden’s as the music began, gesturing them towards the dance floor. Alden, Elayne had noticed was wearing one of her brother’s Orlesian masks so she was unable to make out the rest of his face.

 He was taller than her, but only just she noted as he led her across the hall to the dance floor. His hands were long fingered, cool against her the heat of her own palm.

 “I apologise if my brother has put you up to this.”

 “I assure you he has not put me up to anything.” Alden replied smiling back at her, he turned placing his hand on her waist and the other on the broad of her back. “Although this is an unexpected pleasure.”

 Elayne frowned as they began to dance, it was a slow Ferelden dance that had become popular in the last few years, trickling up from the southern balls and spreading fashionably through the Free Marches. She worried that her footing would be clumsy as they started to move, Elayne reaching about in her mind to trigger muscle memory that would guide her in the correct way less she should make a fool of herself.

 “It has been some time since I last saw you.” She forged ahead with conversation breaking the silence between them.

 “Over a year at least,” Arl Alden replied after some hesitation. “How have you found life in the Circle?”

 “It’s been great,” Elayne replied enthusiastically, “hard to be so far away from everyone though.”

 “Is it not something of a relief?” Alden asked curiously, “Or do you feel trapped by the continuous presence of the Templars?”

 “No more trapped than anywhere else.” Elayne replied simply, allowing Alden to spin her, letting her body relax and follow his lead. “I feel that they are there for as much our own protection as for their own.”

 “That is a curious observation for a Mage to hold.”

 “Is it?” She arched one brow prettily at him. “Are Mages not as capable of cruelty to their fellow companions of Thedas as anyone else? Perhaps we should cast our eyes towards Tevinter where Mages sit upon the Throne, known for their hospitality towards those that they call lesser beings, of course.”

 He was quiet for a moment as if collecting his thoughts, presently he said “Not many formal gatherings would allow Mages to dance freely among guests though.”

 Elayne raised her palm to match his, they circled around each other, eyes level. From behind the shadow of the mask she could make out the exact shade of his eyes, a deep stormy grey.

 “How are you?” She said, her voice almost challenging as they drew close again, mirroring each other's movements. “Glad to be back after your excursions to Antiva?”

 “Yes,” Arl Alden replied. “Although I can say I am much richer from the experience.” He caught her eye as he said this. “Spiritually of course.”

 “I am sure you and my brother have _much_ to catch up on then?”

 The Arl nodded, a small smile creasing his lips. “We have not seen each other for some time, there are things we need to discuss, but they can wait.”

 “I am sure.” Elayne replied an odd expression dancing across her face. The music ended and they drew apart. For a moment neither of them moved, both studying each other's faces intently as the other partners moved back to mingle amongst the other guests.

Arl Alden offered her his arm, she hesitated for a moment before taking it. The crystal light of the chandelier dancing from the semi-precious stones her mother had placed in her hair and her chest rose and fell slowly beneath the deep green velvet of her dress.

“Would you excuse me for a moment.” Elayne murmured catching sight of her youngest brother Willem as Asher strode back towards the two of them, a wine cup clasped in each hand.

The two were immersed in deep conversation as she made her way back to them, Asher flashed her one of his charming roguish grins. “Back so soon sister?” He offered her a sip from his goblet and she took a deep thirsty gulp.

“I was wondering,” Elayne said after a moment’s hesitation, her words careful, “if Arl Alden would like to take a turn about the garden with me.”

 Asher’s face became contemplative. “Ellie?”

 Elayne looked past him ignoring the slight air of suspicion that was hanging about her brother’s mouth.

 If the Arl was surprised he did not show it, he merely finished his cup placing it calmly on the table behind him. “It would be my pleasure, Lady Trevelyan.”

Flicking open her fan Elayne turned towards doors that lead to the garden, ignoring the half formed words on her brother’s lips, the sounds of the party ringing in her ears as Arl Alden followed her without protest.

The guests thinned as they walked outside, the cool night air flowing over them as they walked down the steps to the grass. A large marble fountain depicting a heron swallowing the sun gushed water into a lit bowl beneath it.

Elayne turned a corner, knowing that they would reach a bank of hedges secluded from the inquisitive eyes of peeping onlookers.

“What –” Arl Alden began but was cut off startled as Elayne span round at him, her left hand wielding a long dagger that she thrust against his throat, she glared ferociously at him.

There was a brief silence, then “Not what I imagined to happen.” The Arl said sounding amused. He looked calmly at her from behind the slits in the Orlesian mask; seemingly completely unperturbed by the fact she was holding a sharp blade mere millimetres from his pulsing carotids.

“Who are you?” Elayne hissed, her eyes narrowed. “Alden was sent to Antiva as a companion to Asher. The two of you have been inseparable since the age of five. Alden was the man who accompanied Ash to Orlais; he swore you to secrecy over his affair. You have spent the past five months together.”

Arl Alden laughed to her amazement but said nothing, he was looking at her as if they were playing a game. A game that he was very much enjoying.

“My mistake,” he said slowly in his low pleasing tone, it made her spine tingle. “Is that I continue to underestimate you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are far more perceptive than I give you credit.” Arl Alden continued, he moved his hand to cover hers, where she was pressing the dagger against his throat. “Go on, I give you leave to strike me.”

Elayne licked her lips not knowing what to do next; she was wrong footed by his reaction. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, in fact.

She allowed him to move her hand away from his throat, her fingers growing limp around the blade as she allowed it to clatter to the ground. He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm in an intimate gesture; heat crawled up her body and face but she did not move. He pulled her closer, one arm encircling her waist in a strong embrace she tilted her head slightly to look into his eyes, her cheeks flushed. He studied her for a moment and she felt the thud of her heart inside her chest. He leaned close to her so there was almost no space between them. Her breath caught oddly in her throat.

“Thank you for the dance.”

* * *

 

Dorian snored loudly and Elayne opened her eyes; jerking awake. She was met with the white ceiling of the inn above her head and not the endless stars that had seemed to be sparkling overhead mere seconds before.

Her heart was pattering erratically in her chest as she tried to chase the feeling that she had just been somewhere else out of her mind. Her legs still seemed to ache from dancing, she could almost taste the fragrance of the wine she had been drinking still on her lips, still see the outline of the gold Orlesian mask in the moonlight.

Next to her in bed Dorian gave another loud snore, and this time, losing her temper she kicked him.

 

             


End file.
